The Almost Life
by The Imperfectionist
Summary: AU S1, back nine. Rachel is VA's female lead, and it's her job to seduce and break the up and coming ND's male lead. But some things are just inevitable. Finchel-centric, plus Shelby, Jesse, and the rest of ND. Idea borrowed with permission from gleeme33.
1. Prologue

**Full Summary: "She had a very simple plan. Just be what he needed and turn up the charm. She hadn't counted on wanting him too." AU back nine. Rachel is VA's female lead. When the up and coming New Directions threaten to the dethrone them, it's her job to seduce and break their male lead. But some things are just inevitable. Finchel-centric with appearances by Shelby, Jesse, and the rest of ND. **

****Author's Note / Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own Glee, but I want to reiterate that the concept for this story was also not my idea. This rather brilliant premise was conceived by gleeme33 (you should totally check her stuff out, by the way) and it is being used WITH PERMISSION. I'm essentially using her idea as a starting point and then taking it a completely different direction. Hope you all enjoy it.****

****Rated T for Puck (his existence just seems to attract four letter words).****

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><p><strong>Prologue (AKA "Sectionals")<strong>

When Shelby Corcoran finally dismissed Vocal Adrenaline for the night, Jesse St. James was the first one off the stage. He led his teammates back to the dressing rooms with a little more spring in his step than one might expect after a five hour rehearsal, changing in record time before he returned to the auditorium, where Shelby was still scribbling away at her desk halfway up the rows. He went to grab his backpack from the pile in the front row and was digging in the pockets for his car keys when Rachel Berry emerged from backstage, marching around him and up the aisle towards Shelby.

Just the sight of her made him want to scowl. No sophomore in Vocal Adrenaline had _ever_ been as bossy and demanding as she habitually was, and they all knew the only reason she wasn't left whining outside the auditorium doors was an ugly case of show choir _nepotism_. Worse still, Jesse seemed to be the only one who left was truly bothered by it.

His teammates had had his back at first. They were all furious when she marched onto their stage her freshman year without so much as an audition, and everyone had found their own subtle ways of making her feel as unwelcome as possible. It had been like waiting for a bomb to drop, knowing it was only a matter of time before their coach abandoned all pretense of fairness or seniority and brought her daughter into the spotlight. But when Rachel stayed firmly in the ensemble all year, everyone had slowly relaxed and gone back to ignoring her. Everyone except him.

He couldn't help it; she ruffled his feathers. She was quiet in rehearsal, but she talked Shelby's ear off every second of every break. Didn't that girl ever have to pee? It took months, but, just once, she dropped the act. Andrea Cohen, the closest thing to a female lead they had before Rachel, kept messing up a dance combination they were rehearsing for their Invitational. Rachel had shocked everyone and _shouted_ that Andrea had to lead with her _right_ foot or she would keep falling on her ass. Andrea had given her a look that would curdle eggs, and Rachel had set her jaw and fallen back in line. But it was enough. He knew there was something under there, waiting for the chance to be unleashed. So he kept watching.

The first rehearsal of the new year – his _senior_ year – Shelby laid down the law in her usual no-nonsense fashion: Rachel would be trying out lead on a few numbers. End of discussion. Jesse felt little satisfaction at having been right. Mostly, he was curious; with no audition and a year of nothing but perfecting her ooohs and ahhhs, he had yet to hear her sing. And then his worst fears were realized: she was _good_. (And Jesse knew it, even if he'd rather swallow steel wool and chase it with OJ than admit it out loud.) By Sectionals, Shelby had given her a number to perform completely solo, and she was the uncontested female lead of Vocal Adrenaline.

What pissed him off the most was how quickly his teammates had gotten over it. No one who'd ever been on the receiving end of Rachel's blunt criticism actually _liked_ her, but they conceded to her talent without complaint. It probably helped that Shelby was just as hard on her daughter as she was on the rest of them. Rachel might be clinging to her delusions of grandeur now, but in a matter of months, he would be going off to the University of California, Los Angeles, and she would still be here.

A hand on Jesse's shoulder made him look up. It was Andrea, eyeing him lewdly.

"We still on for tonight?" she asked, her voice low. "We have that history test tomorrow, and I could use a good cram session."

He smirked. "Just have to stop home first."

"Jesse," Shelby called, and he turned to give her his full attention as she got to her feet behind her desk. "McKinley's Sectionals are next Saturday. You free?"

He understood. They'd heard all about McKinley's new director, how he'd been recruiting to start the club from scratch. Most new choirs had all the coordination of a rush hour pile-up, but they'd actually managed to qualify for Sectionals, which meant they were worth checking out.

"Wouldn't miss it," he told Shelby, nodding.

"Me too," said Andrea, her hand still on his shoulder.

Shelby looked between the two of them for a moment, then said abruptly, "Take Rachel with you."

Andrea let out a throaty chortle before she could stifle it and immediately made herself scarce at Shelby's glare. Rachel turned to glance up at her mom in surprise – apparently this was news to her too – but she looked pleased. Only Jesse's superb acting skills kept his own displeasure from showing as he gritted his teeth and nodded in agreement.

He pulled his backpack onto one shoulder and started up the aisle towards the doors. "We'll swing by to pick you up," he told Rachel shortly as he passed her on his way out.

All thoughts of Rachel left his mind as he left the building and ran to his shiny new Range Rover, smirking at the number one on his personalized license plate. _Damn straight_. He had to hurry or he wouldn't have time to shower before going over to Andrea's. Though, if their previous study sessions were any indication, they wouldn't be doing much actual studying, which was just fine with him.

* * *

><p>Rachel settled into a seat in the back of the auditorium, watching as the last of her teammates escaped to their fleet of Range Rovers in the parking lot without sparing her a second glance. She didn't know where they were always going, although she heard about parties and movie nights she was never invited to. They were mostly civil to her in school and rehearsals – well, except for Andrea Cohen – but none of them spent any more time with her than they had to, something she hadn't yet been able to change.<p>

She started to dig out some homework to do while she waited for her mom to come back from her office, but the echoing _clang_ of a door made her look up. It wasn't Shelby returning, but rather a bizarre medley of kids filing into the theater through the side entrance. A trio of cheerleaders in uniform led the way, followed by short black girl who was arm in arm with a boy in a loud red sweater beside her. A girl in a visibly goth outfit was looking around the auditorium with interest, while another really tall guy hung back a little, apparently fascinated with the empty bird's nest in the balcony overhang.

Realizing the cheerleaders were not sporting Carmel's colors, Rachel got to her feet and descended toward them. "Can I help you?" she asked curiously.

"Hi!" said the shorter boy in an astonishingly high voice. Wait – were those heeled boots? "We were looking for Dakota Stanley. Are you Vocal Adrenaline?"

"Yes," she replied proudly, drawing herself up. "I'm Rachel Berry. And you are…?"

"Wondering what practical joke resulted in that sweater," said the dark-haired cheerleader, sounding genuinely perplexed.

"E-Excuse me?" Rachel stammered, taken aback as she glanced defensively down at her favorite reindeer pullover.

"That's really not helping, Santana," Mercedes shot at her loudly. "That's Santana," she repeated unnecessarily, inclining a finger in the cheerleader's direction. "And that's Quinn, Brittany, Tina, Kurt, and Finn. And I'm Mercedes."

"We're the McKinley High Glee Club," said the nearest blonde cheerleader – Quinn – in a haughty, impatient tone. "And we're looking for Dakota Stanley."

_Ohhh. McKinley… _That made sense. Rachel bit her lip. These guys were her competition. There was absolutely no way she was going to betray her team and her coach (AKA her _mom_) by handing them _any_ advantage.

"He's not here today," she said honestly. "Frankly, even if I had his contact information, it wouldn't be fair to my team for me to just give it to you." She could probably find it if she dug around her mom's office, but that was beside the point.

Kurt's hopeful expression immediately vanished, and nearly all of them visibly deflated. The tall guy – Finn – was focused closer to the ground now, his brow furrowed so intensely Rachel was sure she could see the wheels turning.

"I told you this was a waste of time," Santana told the group, and Rachel just caught the barely-discernable disappointment in her voice.

Rachel swiveled her head quickly to make sure the auditorium was still empty, and made a split-second decision she could only call temporary insanity. "Look, uhh, we have a rehearsal with him on Thursday. We usually finish about this time," she said casually, though her expression was anything but.

"Really?" Quinn asked, sounding doubtful. "Why would you help us?"

Rachel shrugged. "It would've taken you about two seconds to find him online. I'm just saving you the trouble." The cheerleader managed to look a little sheepish.

Her phone buzzed in her skirt pocket, and she pulled it out to glance down at the screen. It was a text from her mother, saying to meet her in the faculty parking lot.

"I have to go," she told them, replacing her phone in her pocket.

"Thanks," the tall guy – Finn – said, meeting her eyes over the others with a grin. "We owe you one."

Eyeing their odd group as she backed up the main aisle, she returned the smile. "Let's call it even."

"Why?" he asked as she turned to leave, sounding puzzled.

"You haven't met him yet," she called over her shoulder, unable to keep from grinning wolfishly.

* * *

><p><em>She set us up!<em> Finn thought in disbelief.

Dakota Stanley was a very, _very _bad man. Except he was more like half of a bad man because he was really short. He was an evil elf!

Quinn was totally right about that Vocal Adrenaline chick with the shiny hair… Rachel, right? She was really short too. Maybe she and that wacko were related. That would explain a lot, 'cause she totally sicced that show choir Nazi on them on purpose. (_Frankenteen? Really?_) Quinn bitched and I-told-you-so-ed for almost an hour after they'd come to their senses and fired him. It had also been her idea to hire him in the first place, but whatever. Everyone was relieved when Mr. Schue agreed to come back to rehearsals after that.

Except now they were back to square _screwed_. Thanks to Mr. Schue, a fluke, and Beyonce, they had won a football game and gotten a few of the guys to join glee, meaning that they finally had the twelve members they needed to get on stage at Sectionals. It was what they would do when they got there that had everyone freaked out.

They did more fighting than singing the closer Sectionals got, and he was afraid they would never be able to agree on a set list. They all wanted to win, but everyone seemed to think they were the club's best shot. Hiring Dakota Stanley had been a last ditch attempt. They needed to rally around _something_ they could call their secret weapon. When that didn't work, people had kinda snapped.

Mr. Schue had been trying to hold everyone together. He'd talked Mercedes and Santana out of a catfight twice this week already. But it was obvious that he didn't know how to fix this either.

"Finn," Mr. Schue called across the choir room after another disastrous rehearsal. "Stick around a minute."

Finn left his backpack on the floor as he plopped into the front row. Mr. Schue dragged a chair in front of him and sank into it backwards, crossing his arms over the back. "What's up, Mr. Schue?" he asked, bouncing his knee restlessly.

"We have a big problem here. This club won't exist after Saturday unless we can get everyone to put aside their differences."

"I know," Finn said, swallowing. "And I know you're tired of all the fighting, but please don't give up on us yet."

"I'm not giving up. I'm trying a new approach," said Mr. Schue with a small smile. "See, I could just make the set list myself, tell you guys what to sing. But that's not why we're here. And if you guys get up there on Saturday and sing songs I picked out, even if you're letter perfect, you'll still lose."

Finn knew he looked confused. This was Mr. Schue's worst pep talk _ever_.

"You have to pick songs _you_ believe in, and that can't come from me. This club needs a leader right now, Finn, someone they trust to stand toe to toe with the competition and not back down, the way you do on the football field."

He was afraid that's what Mr. Schue was getting at.

"What if I just make it worse?" he heard himself ask.

Mr. Schue raised an eyebrow at him, chuckling. "Seriously? How much worse could it get?"

"_Schuester_!" bellowed Coach Sylvester from the door, indicating with a finger that he should follow her.

He grimaced. "Just try, please," he said, patting Finn's arm as he replaced the chair and left.

Finn sat there a few more minutes, waiting for his brain to catch up. He had brought the club together once, but he wasn't sure he could do it again. There were twice as many egos to deal with this time, for one thing. And if his solution didn't involve heavily featuring Quinn, he would pay for it in blood later, or maybe boredom.

But Mr. Schue was right. He was probably the only one everyone would listen to. He knew they all wanted to save the club, and if he could find music that reminded them why they were all there in the first place, maybe they could work together long enough to perform the songs, win Sectionals, and then get back to ego tripping next week. Assuming the club even _had_ a next week. He wasn't expecting a miracle.

* * *

><p>That Saturday, Rachel sat at the end of their row at McKinley's Sectionals. Jesse was on her right, Andrea on his other side, and the two of them had been engaged in a hushed conversation since they sat down. She had wondered briefly if they might be talking about her – Andrea had been sneering at the knitted horse on her sweater since they picked her up an hour ago – but she quickly put those thoughts out of her mind. The only reason her mom wasn't there herself was because she trusted Rachel to accurately size up their competition, whomever it turned out to be, and she was determined to take it seriously.<p>

At long last, the lights dimmed, and the coordinator walked out from the wings to announce the first team: the Jane Addams Academy, which was apparently an all-girls ensemble. Rachel hadn't heard of them before, but thirty seconds into their first number she summed up their crowd appeal in one word: hairography. It was the most amateur of flashy distraction tactics, not even close to resembling a threat.

At the first break, Rachel excused herself from Jesse and Andrea – who had resumed their muttering the second the lights came back up – and went to get a bottled water. She was just pocketing her change when she saw them. McKinley's glee club was clustered near the opposite entrance, apparently with too much nervous energy to stay in their seats. She recognized most of them from their visit to Carmel the week before, plus a few more guys, including one with a Mohawk, and… was that kid in a wheelchair? She couldn't wait to see how they worked _that_ into their choreography. She looked up, and realized the tall guy she met at Carmel had caught her staring – Finn, she remembered. She gave him a small smile, but he didn't return it. In fact, he looked… a little hurt? Angry, maybe? What was that about?

The sound of chimes broke their stare-off, and she had no choice but to hurry back to her seat before the next club took the stage.

Rachel stopped paying attention to the second choir the moment she heard the words "School for the Deaf" leave the coordinator's mouth. She had to fight the urge to clap her hands over her ears throughout all three numbers, each more excruciating than the last. If all this chaotic _noise_ damaged her pitch-sensitive ears, she'd be filing a law suit.

It was pretty dark in the theater, but she could still pick out McKinley from here – it helped that the kid in the wheelchair was parked in the aisle. That tall guy was sitting a couple chairs in, his head drooping forward like he was falling asleep. So much for nervous energy. She couldn't figure out what his attitude had been about in the lobby. Maybe he thought she was spying. (She _was_ spying, but whatever – it was a public event and there were no rules against them attending. She'd checked.) Maybe the pressure was getting to him; not everyone was destined for this, after all. He'd better get it together if he wanted his team to do well.

Finally, the deaf choir took their bows, and McKinley filed out through the far aisle to change and warm up during the break. Looking down, she saw she'd finished her water, though she couldn't remember taking more than a sip. Andrea stood up abruptly and climbed over both of them, heading for the exit. After a moment, Rachel realized that left her with Jesse.

"So," she began, hoping to avoid an awkward silence. "What do you think?"

"I've seen both of those teams before," he answered matter-of-factly. "On top of their obvious flaws, they're inconsistent. McKinley is the only reason we're here. It's important to size up any new competition." He smirked, as though he were enjoying some private joke with himself.

"But they've competed before, right?" Rachel could've sworn she'd heard of them through her mother long before joining Vocal Adrenaline.

He nodded. "They showed at Sectionals three years ago with their old director and did some ill-conceived tribute to Josh Groban dressed like ancient Egyptians. I guess they couldn't generate enough interest after that. They haven't been back since."

_Until now,_ Rachel added silently. Maybe Dakota Stanley had been able to help them after all, if they were here.

"You don't like me much, do you?" Jesse asked bluntly, turning to look at her.

Rachel smiled in spite of herself. She did appreciate honesty. "You're very talented, Jesse…"

"Oh, I know," he said candidly. "But…"

"_But_, you refuse to accept me as part of the team. I'd take it personally except you don't acknowledge anyone else's talent either."

Surprisingly, he smiled at her. Trust Jesse to turn something like that into a compliment. "You're right," he said finally.

"What?"

"I haven't been very welcoming, and I suppose it's partly my fault that the rest of the team hasn't either."

She gave a small nod in response.

"We should rehearse a duet this week," he said suddenly.

Rachel gaped at him. She couldn't remember Jesse volunteering to split the lead on a number _ever_. "Really?"

He shrugged, though he continued to hold her gaze. "Yeah. Shelby wanted something different for Regionals. This definitely qualifies."

"Okay," she agreed, grinning at him. "Let's do it."

"Okay."

As if on cue, the lights overhead flashed, chimes signaling the start of the next act. Andrea appeared a few moments later, and Rachel jumped into the aisle before Andrea could brush past her rudely again, noticing the way Jesse unashamedly stared at Andrea's butt as she slid past him. Rachel rolled her eyes and ignored them as she sank back into her seat, preparing to see whether McKinley would prove to be a threat after all.

The coordinator announced the New Directions, and the lights went down. Music started up, a familiar heavy beat she couldn't quite place, though from Jesse's scoff next to her, he already had. She waited for the curtain to go up, and was nearly blinded as a spotlight swept past her on its way to the exit instead. Finn, the tall guy, pushed his way through the curtains, took a wide-eyed sweep of the room, and began to sing. Well, she had to give them points for ingenuity.

Even after meeting him, albeit briefly, she would not have pegged him as the lead. His voice didn't quite have the power of Jesse's, or a fraction of his confidence. But here he was, carrying his team with his own clumsy yet mesmerizing quality. He made his way steadily down the aisle next to her and towards the stage. He didn't see her, though with the spotlight in his face he probably couldn't see much of anything. As he climbed the stairs and reached center stage, the curtain lifted to reveal the rest of New Directions in rough formation on the risers. Arms at their sides, they joined in to harmonize the last verse of his song with him. The entire team paused for a few long moments, eyes to the floor – and Rachel was shocked at the audience's earsplitting reaction – and then launched into their first group number. She immediately recognized this one as a classic by the Rolling Stones.

McKinley was not what she expected at all. Most schools went for as much flash as possible to impress the judges, especially in the case of new choirs. She heard raw talent in their voices, though they were neither polished nor perfectly synchronized. Their choreography was incredibly basic, and most definitely _not_ Dakota Stanley's work – maybe they chickened out and never called him, or decided he was too pricey – but they did have an energy neither of the other choirs had. It was encompassing and palpable, and yet it was subtle too. It was in the way they caught each other's eyes mid-lyric, when other choirs would be focused on the audience, or the little extra _swing_ someone threw into a particular move just because they felt like it in the moment. They looked like they were having _fun_ up there together. Part of her longed to know what that felt like.

It came as no surprise to Rachel when, after yet _another_ break – who planned these things? – the judges took to the stage and announced McKinley to be the winners. She couldn't wait until her mom heard about _this_.

* * *

><p>Jesse and Andrea dropped her back home after the competition, leaving her to report their observations to her mother alone. Which, she thought stubbornly, was just fine with her. Rachel wasn't stupid. She knew it was her they were trying to avoid, and not their coach. Shelby Corcoran was famously severe, but it was obvious from the moment Rachel joined Vocal Adrenaline that Jesse and her mom had developed an easy professional rapport, one she still envied in her most insecure moments.<p>

"Mom?" she called as she hung her jacket in the hall closet.

"In here," came the muffled reply.

She dropped her bag at the foot of the stairs and walked down the long hallway towards her mom's home office, easing the door open slowly.

"Hey," her mom said, eyes still trained on her enormous desk. It looked like she was storyboarding choreography. She put a giant X through one panel before finally looking up. "So?"

"McKinley won," Rachel said matter-of-factly as she sat down.

Shelby nodded, leaning back into her desk chair. "I can't say I'm surprised. Those other two teams have barely gotten through their numbers the last couple years. I bet the judges were _praying_ for something new. What do you make of them?" she asked her daughter.

Rachel couldn't help but savor the moment. She loved Shelby as a mom, but that someone as accomplished and formidable as Coach Corcoran valued her opinion meant the world to her. "They couldn't hope to compete with us technically, but they did have surprising chemistry and stage presence. The audience ate it up, and apparently so did the judges."

Her mom seemed to consider this. "Did you enjoy it?"

"What?"

"The performance. You don't spend much time in the audience these days. It gives you a whole new perspective on what we do up there," she said wistfully.

"It does," Rachel agreed, thinking of the joyful expressions New Directions had worn every second on stage. She wondered what Vocal Adrenaline's trademark "show face" – did that patent ever come through? – looked like to a crowd.

"Listen, hun," Shelby said, sitting up straighter, "I'm almost done in here. So why don't we –"

"Say no more," said Rachel agreeably as she stood up. "I'll get started on dinner."

"_Please _no more fake meats for a while," Shelby said, with feeling. "I don't know where this new vegan kick came from, but you're not dragging me down there with you."

Rachel made a face, though her eyes twinkled. "Fine. Pasta, it is. But then I get to pick the movie!" And she fled, grinning deviously, before her mom could argue.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: And we're off. This prologue sets up most of the background you need to know for the rest of the story, which despite the alternate history will link in with a lot of canon plot from the back nine (with some very intentional and important deviations). This is my first Glee fic and a _very_ different writing style for me, so any feedback from you guys (particularly constructive feedback) is HUGELY appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: A huge thank you to everyone who favorited, alerted, and especially to those of you who reviewed. I forgot to mention this in the last chapter, but I do want to reassure all of you that this story is FINCHEL, FINCHEL, FINCHEL all the way. I know it's not obvious just from the prologue, and it will be a slow build since with this alternate history they just met, but fluffiness will ensue. Actual bunnies may actually pop out of your screen (Wouldn't that be cool?). **

**We're officially into the back-nine, and in the interest of getting to the good stuff, I've combined plot elements from Hell-O and The Power of Madonna. Should be pretty easy to follow. Thanks for reading!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Glee, not my idea (see Prologue).**

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><p><strong>Chapter One (AKA "Hell-O, Madonna Part 1")<strong>

At glee on Monday, Finn couldn't help but zone out during Mr. Schue's reinvention speech. Not that he didn't have a point, but Regionals were ages away, and they could all use a little break from competition after Sectionals. The club had managed to get through it, barely – though he'd almost hurled right before his solo – but mentioning competition in that choir room was kinda like dropping blood into a shark tank. The sharks go completely batshit and end up eating each other half the time.

Plus, he had bigger stuff on his mind. Quinn was pissed at him. Again. This time it was because he wanted to break the world record for most hours of straight video game play with Puck this weekend instead of taking her on a date. But, to be honest, he didn't think she'd want to hang out anyway since he was still in the doghouse over Sectionals (she'd had to split the leads with Mercedes and Santana to avoid another blowout). It wasn't like he was the one who assigned parts – he'd just picked the music and tried to get everybody into it – but for some reason she still blamed him anyway. He wasn't sure exactly when things changed, but it felt like all she ever did was yell at him anymore. It made him wonder why they were still together at all.

In the beginning, he'd asked her out because he'd just been made starting quarterback, and he seriously needed to grease some wheels with the seniors on the team unless he wanted to get his ass sacked every practice. They'd been dropping hints that Quinn was into him, giving him "the look" or something. And she was a hot cheerleader, soon to be _head _cheerleader actually. So he went along with it. And it was nice, knowing that his popularity was a guarantee. Quinn had a plan for them, like she did for _everything_, which meant that he didn't have to. He'd grown to love her softer side, even if he hadn't seen it much lately. She wasn't in bitch mode all the time, but she always got what she wanted, no matter what.

It wasn't until after he joined glee, and his popularity stopped being the most important thing, that it started to bother him that she never asked what _he _wanted.

Maybe Mr. Schue was onto something with this whole reinvention thing (if it meant what he thought it meant). Was he still the same guy that he'd been a year ago, before he made a habit of all this _thinking_? Maybe that guy needed someone like Quinn in his life, but did he now?

* * *

><p>Rachel returned to her locker after fourth period only to find that a note had been slipped through the vents. She quickly shoved her books inside and ripped it open.<p>

**AUDITORIUM. LUNCH.**

She smiled as she slammed her locker shut and power-walked towards the auditorium. Only Jesse would be almost as theatrical as she was.

Carmel's massive theater was dark but for a light tree that had been dragged next to the grand piano on stage. Jesse was leaning against it casually, smiling at her. She smiled back nervously as she made her way down the left aisle and up the stairs, careful not to trip and ruin the moment.

"I got your note," she said, not knowing what else to say.

Jesse inclined his head towards the piano. "I thought we could rehearse our duet. I usually have the place to myself this time of day."

"So that's why I never see you in the cafeteria," she said, looking at him curiously. "I just assumed you went off campus for lunch with the other seniors."

That smirk was back, like he was surprised to find out she actually paid attention. "Everyone thinks I'm somewhere else. They all get more than their fill of show choir in rehearsals, but my ambitions go way beyond that. I like to have time to myself everyday to cultivate my star potential."

That she could relate to. Her mother was well aware of her goals, but even she didn't know how much time Rachel spent studying her idols' go-to audition songs or planning how to decorate her dressing room at her first Broadway theater. If anyone could sympathize with their dreams, it should be their fellow glee-clubbers. And yet, Jesse had said that no one knew about his lunch sanctuary. She studied him carefully, wondering why he would want to share it with her.

"Come on," he said abruptly, circling around to sit on the piano bench. "Let's take it for a spin."

Her feet carried her towards him, and she glanced at the sheet music on the stand. "Lionel Richie?" she asked, surprised.

He played the key chord experimentally. "It seemed appropriate. Regionals and Nationals are going to be all about reinvention. The team will have to figure out how to carry on its winning streak without me next year. If you can…"

Rachel heard the teasing in his tone, but stood straighter anyway. Assuming leadership of this club was something she was determined to do, though she wasn't sure that anyone would let her. She set her jaw and plopped down next to him, nodding for him to play the intro. She let him take the first verse, wanting to see if he could pull off the quiet longing this song demanded. It wasn't exactly his usual style.

His voice was as refined and elegant as she remembered, ringing with the seemingly flawless ease and control that comes with years of practice. She dove into the second verse with him, letting the melody pull the emotion out of her. The joy of feeling connected, the anticipation of something new on the horizon, the lingering sorrow that it took this long to begin – hardly a stretch. It was exhilarating how seamlessly their voices fit together.

Had she been watching him from the audience, or listening to a recording, she would have thought he believed every word he was singing. But this close, studying him to soak in every detail… the calculation in his eyes gave him away. He was acting through the song – and incredibly well – but he wasn't feeling it. He wasn't in the moment with her.

Her eyes closed as they came to the last verse, trying to hold onto the feeling. But when he struck the last keys lightly, it had already disappeared. Would he think she was crazy for wanting to try another one? Already running through her mental list of possible duets, she opened her eyes to find Jesse gazing back at her.

"I have an idea," he said, smiling as he leaned a little closer.

"Okay…" she replied excitedly, glad they were on the same mental page. Maybe he would pick the same song she had been thinking of, and they'd laugh at their own remarkable synergy. And when Vocal Adrenaline opened their winning set list at Nationals with this signature duet, they could look back on this as the blossoming moment of their unstoppable leading duo.

"You should transfer to McKinley."

He might as well have doused her with ice water. She could practically feel the smile vanish from her face and flee all the way down to her big toe. Her chest constricted until it felt like there was a hook caught under her ribs. She must have heard him wrong. "You – what?"

"Not permanently… just – New Directions will be our biggest threat at Regionals –"

"And my transferring would help us _how_?" Rachel exclaimed, recovered enough to scramble off of the piano bench. She planted herself at the edge of the stage and crossed her arms. He had about thirty seconds to explain how she was misunderstanding him or she was going to execute the mother of all dramatic storm-outs.

Jesse must have sensed she was ready to snap. He swung around on the bench so he could face her, eyes wide and pleading. "The only way to make sure we'll get a chance at a fourth National title is to throw them off their game. I'd do it myself, but my research tells me their linchpin is their male lead, Finn Hudson."

She couldn't help the shrill edge that crept into her voice."Do _what_, exactly? Jesse, are you asking me to _kill_ our competition?"

"What? No." He shook the thought away. "If you get close to him, break his heart, they won't have a chance to be competitive at Regionals. You'd be back in time to hold up that trophy with me."

"That's _deplorable_. I can't condone cheating."

"It's not cheating," Jesse said softly, but firmly. "Stealing their set lists, infecting their choir room with asbestos… _that_ would be cheating. There is a long and proud history of mutual interference between choirs leading up to major competitions. We're just stepping it up a level. This year is too important to leave to chance. We're not just talking about _my_ legacy; it's yours too."

He'd lost her. "Mine?"

"Rachel, you and I aren't so different. You could be the next star of Vocal Adrenaline, the captain who leads us to the longest winning streak in show choir _history_. If you can pull this off, the rest of the team will _have_ to take you seriously. They'll accept you as a leader."

She tried not to picture it, but the image was already burned into her brain. She could see herself on stage at Nationals, hoisted onto Jesse and Phil's shoulders, the trophy on her lap almost as brilliant as her smile. Cameras would flash as her fellow glee-clubbers stared up at her in adoration. Confetti would fall as if the heavens themselves smiled down. As tempting as it was, there was one very large obstacle.

"My mom would never agree to it," she said at last, and she was surprised to hear the disappointment in her voice.

"True," Jesse agreed, suddenly much more relaxed, "unless you don't tell her why. Think of this as a chance to test your acting chops. Tell her it's for some other reason."

She tried not to visibly shudder at the thought of lying to her mom. "Like what?"

"Whatever she'll believe," was his quick reply.

* * *

><p>Finn was beyond relieved football season was over. All the guys had been happy to have at least one win, but even he knew when something as humiliating as dancing on a football field was the highpoint of a season, it could <em>not<em> be good.

Basketball felt like a fresh start, though it sucked that it didn't get him out of his own head as much as football. Paying attention just didn't seem as important without a bunch of gorillas in pads charging at him. With all the drama before Sectionals, he hadn't had time to look any farther ahead than a couple of weeks. But that didn't last long.

He only had two more seasons to attract scouts for a football scholarship if he ever wanted to get out of this town. Ms. Pillsbury had said it might be better to try for a music scholarship, but glee was barely making it from one week to the next. He didn't know how good you had to be to attract scouts for music – unless you were one of those freaky prodigy kids on the talk shows his mom watched – but he figured showing at Regionals would be a good start… assuming they even lasted that long.

Winning Sectionals had been _awesome_. No one expected them to pull it off, and the surprise made it a thousand times better. But a couple days later, Mr. Schue got them thinking ahead to Regionals, and everyone in the club slowly came around to the same idea: they didn't stand a chance.

That realization had done more damage than Sue Sylvester ever had, and now everyone just moped around, acting like they'd already lost. He knew what that looked like – the football team had been in that rut since before he joined. They still had fun performing together in rehearsals, but that competitive edge they'd had before Sectionals was gone. He knew he had to do something to get them motivated, but what? He'd already tried everything he could think of: leading by example, making suggestions to get them pumped, getting advice from anyone who would listen. None of it worked, and he was running low on ideas.

He'd had a dream the other night that he'd borrowed this intense stun gun his uncle used on cows and chased the club around the stage with it. Would that help?

A sharp _smack_ on the back of his head pulled him back to the present.

"What the – ?" He jerked forward and looked over his shoulder.

Puck was winding up the towel for another swing. "Dude, you've been catatonic for like ten minutes. You forget how to tie your shoes?"

Finn rubbed his head and looked down; all the strings were in horribly tangled knots. "No," he said defensively, kicking them off. "It's just easier."

Puck smirked at him and rounded the corner towards the showers. Finn didn't hear anyone else laughing, so they had to be the last two in the locker room. It must be later than he thought.

"What are you still doing here, anyway?" Finn called after him, cinching a towel around his waist before throwing the rest of his clothes into his locker. Puck never tried out for the basketball team. As he put it, _if it's not an excuse to hit people, what's the draw?_

"Lifting some weights, christening the bleachers," Puck yelled back. Smug bastard.

"Uh huh." Finn walked quickly to the stall two over from Puck, letting the water heat up before he stepped under the spray.

After a moment, Puck stopped shampooing his Mohawk and looked over at him. "Well, aren't you going to ask me who it was?"

Finn chuckled. "Was she wearing a cheerios uniform?"

"For about ten seconds."

"Then you're not gonna surprise me."

Puck shrugged, like it was Finn's loss, but let it drop. "What're you noodling so hard anyway? You looked like you were trying to grow x-ray vision when I walked in."

"Just stuff," he answered vaguely. He and Puck had been best friends since they were kids, but they only ever talked about sports, beer, and girls. He used to think that covered all the important stuff, before this damned _thinking_ habit. Finn reached for the soap. "You ever… think about what you'll do after graduation?"

"Not much," Puck answered shortly. "I figure I'll milk my pool cleaning business that summer, maybe knock over the ATM behind the 7-Eleven if I get desperate, and then first chance I get, I'm packing up my truck and moving to Columbus so I can work the college girls."

It was very Puck: simple, unless something went wrong. "And you'll be happy?"

Puck looked at him like he'd just admitted to liking the Dixie Chicks. "Dude, they get a new class of babes every year."

"Right."

Sometimes, Finn had to wonder why he made things so hard for himself. His mom always told him he was a natural born leader. That sounded great – it was the kinda crap you could put on a resume – but all it meant for him lately was working twice as hard to get half as far.

Everything would be so much easier if he could think like Puck. _Did I get laid today? Check. _

At least Finn had a handful of people who believed in him. Things had to look up sooner or later, right?

* * *

><p>Rachel wrung her fingers in her lap until her knuckles turned white, watching the houses in their neighborhood roll by her window while her stomach tied itself in knots. She and Jesse had agreed to launch what he dubbed "The Plan" as soon as possible, which meant that she had to talk to her mom about it <em>tonight<em>. She'd rather sit through a dozen more deaf choir performances.

"Rachel, are you okay?" Shelby asked, watching the road. "You seemed distracted all through rehearsal."

Sometimes she really wished her mother couldn't read her like a book. She'd only made it halfway through her breathing exercises. It wasn't like she had a ton of experience lying to her. She'd never had to. They'd been a team, working towards the same goals, for as long as she could remember.

Shelby parked in their driveway, glancing at Rachel curiously before she got out. Rachel took her time retrieving her bags from the backseat, trying to collect her thoughts.

The only advice Jesse had offered her – after laughing at the hysteria in her voice from _talking_ about lying to Shelby – was that the most believable lies started with a grain of truth. Experience told her that her mother could sniff out a lie in a heartbeat (she taught at a high school, after all). If that didn't work, there was always the truth. Not "The Plan," but the other reason Rachel was desperate for this to work. She knew what to say, if it came to that, but she also knew it was going to hurt. A lot.

Was it worth it – hurting her mom, uprooting her life – all for a trophy? Of course, the trophy was an all-important metaphor for so many of her dreams: fame, prestige, a future as a performer. Hadn't they been working towards this her entire life?

The more she tried to picture all the ways this could play out, the more attractive the idea became. Some part of her longed for that elusive _something_ that Vocal Adrenaline couldn't satisfy. She couldn't say for sure that McKinley held the answers, but when she'd watched them on stage, she had the inescapable feeling that they knew something about performing that she didn't. She _needed_ to find out what that was.

She gulped back sudden nausea as she forced herself through their front door.

Her mom would forgive her eventually. She had to.

"Mom," she began hesitantly, closing the door behind her.

Shelby shrugged her coat from her shoulders and reached for a hanger from the closet. "Yes…" she replied, with an air of playful indulgence. She'd noticed Rachel's silence, but she didn't think anything was seriously wrong.

Better to do it quick, like ripping off a band-aid.

"I want to transfer to McKinley."

For a moment, she thought time might have stopped. Her mom froze halfway through putting her coat onto its hanger. Slowly, Shelby turned towards her. Her gaze was piercing, and Rachel took an involuntary step back, swallowing painfully past the lump in her throat as her pulse pounded in her ears.

"That's not funny," her mom said at last.

Rachel saw the thunderstruck look on her mother's face and suddenly wished more than anything that she _was_ joking. She'd spent all of her afternoon classes writing a speech. Why couldn't she remember a word of it now? She bit her lip, trying not to cry.

Shelby abruptly seemed to realize she was still clutching her coat and shoved it roughly into the closet. She walked the short distance to the living room in slow motion, whipping back around just before she reached the couch. "You want to leave Vocal Adrenaline?"

Rachel followed her, cradling her hands in front of her chest. "I'm sorry. It's just –" _Focus. You practiced this. _"There's a – a fungus… or something… It's growing all over campus, and I must be allergic. I can't breathe around the fumes and –"

_Why did that sound so much more convincing in my head?_ she thought desperately. So much for her perfectly crafted lie. There was a reason she'd never gotten away with anything in her entire life.

Shelby clearly wasn't buying it either. "Rachel… you're scaring me. Tell me what's wrong."

Rachel could feel the truth bubbling up in her chest – part of it anyway. She threw herself into the nearest armchair, taking a deep breath as quietly as she could. "They all hate me."

Her mom relaxed a little – Rachel doubted this was news. They'd never talked about it, but only a blind person wouldn't notice that she had spent every Saturday night of her high school life on their living room couch.

She felt some of the pressure leave her throat – at least Shelby probably wasn't going to yell at her. "They resent my talent; they resent me as a lead. I just don't see the point in wasting my energy on someplace where I'm not appreciated."

Her mom's expression was sympathetic. "Rachel, I know how frustrating that is, but quitting isn't the answer. They just don't know you."

"It's not just that," she said softly.

"Then what is it?" her mom asked impatiently. "Is someone bullying you? Are you having boy troubles? _What_?"

"It's because of you!" Rachel cried. _Crap._ She hadn't meant to say that at all.

Shelby sounded like the air had been knocked from her lungs. "What?"

"Every solo I get, every dance rehearsal I lead… they hate me for it because they refuse to believe I deserve it." Rachel choked back a sob, staring at her shoes. "I don't think they'll ever fully accept me as long as I'm the coach's daughter."

If there had ever been a time in her life for profanity, this was it. It wasn't a lie, but she had _never_ wanted her mom to find that out. Rachel braved a glance up and flinched. Something in Shelby's expression had crumbled.

"Oh… I see." Shelby took a step backwards and sank onto the couch, gripping her knees.

_Oh God. Oh God. _Was it too late to take it back? Forget her own insignificant longings. She could tell her mom it was a joke after all, or a scene from some play she'd been working on. She could shove Jesse's plan right back down his throat; he could either seduce Finn Hudson himself or forget about it – she didn't care which. She'd be focusing her all her energy on making sure Vocal Adrenaline was at the top of their game by Regionals. But a glance at her mother told her the damage had been done. She might as well see it through.

"I – I think I just need some separation," she babbled softly. Was there anything she could say to make this easier? "I mean, I go to school, and you're my coach. I come home, and you're still my coach. A new school would admittedly be a challenge, but it would mean a fresh start."

Shelby nodded and cleared her throat. "Why McKinley?"

This, at least, was easy to answer somewhat honestly. "It's closest."

"Would you join their glee club?"

Rachel hesitated, watching her mother closely, then nodded. "It's what I love doing. That hasn't changed."

Shelby's expression was grim. "You know that would make us each other's competition."

"Out there, maybe. Our relationship doesn't have to change." But she knew that wasn't true. She loved the symbiosis they lived in. She had a coach who valued her input and knew exactly how to nurture her talent, and Shelby had a lead she trusted implicitly to carry out her vision and be her second pair of eyes. They were partners, and Vocal Adrenaline was the vehicle that made it possible. Rachel was about to pull the rug out from under them. "Well," she amended reasonably. "At least we don't have to be awkward around each other."

Her mother's face was impassive as she stared at the carpet. Rachel tried not to panic, but her dramatic nature was working against her. What if Shelby didn't understand, and all this trauma had been for nothing? What if she thought she was ungrateful? What if she hated her? What if she banished her to the back of Vocal Adrenaline's _chorus_?

At last, her mother looked at her, and Rachel felt her breath catch in her throat. "Alright," Shelby said, sniffling.

"What?" Rachel sputtered, a little incredulous. "Really?"

"Rachel, I never wanted you to be unhappy. The irony is, you were supposed to go to McKinley in the first place. We technically live in their district, but I got special permission for you to come to Carmel with me. I thought it might be easier for you to feel like you had an ally at school. But you've always done things on your own terms." A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "I won't stand in the way."

Relief swamped Rachel's entire body. She ran into her mother's arms, the tears flowing freely. "Thank you," she mumbled into her shoulder.

Shelby just held her tighter.

* * *

><p>The next afternoon, Rachel knocked sharply on the office door, trying not to let her nerves get the best of her. At least she'd timed this so that the halls were mostly empty.<p>

"Mr. Schuester?" she called, poking her head inside the tiny room.

"Yeah?" he replied, turning to look at her. Did she miss the Jheri curl comeback? At least he wore it well.

"I'm Rachel Berry. Do you have a minute?" His eyes went wide with recognition. _He knows._

"Have a seat," he said, moving to clear a large stack of sheet music from the other chair. "The principal sent an email to all the teachers about you this morning. I read your file."

She closed the door and sat, glad she wouldn't have to ease into the subject. "So, I'm guessing you already know why I'm here."

He glanced down at his desk, shrugging his shoulders lightly. "You were a model student, the youngest female lead Vocal Adrenaline has ever had. New Directions would be lucky to have you." _So true._ "But I need you to answer me something first. _Honestly_."

"You think I'm a spy," Rachel guessed, nodding.

He didn't blink. "Are you?"

_Not technically_, she thought wryly. She had no intentions of reporting their activities to back to Jesse or anyone else. "I know how the circumstances of my arrival must look, and I can't honestly say that Vocal Adrenaline isn't capable of sabotage, but believe me when I tell you that I have my own reasons for being here."

He stared at her for a long moment, and she stared back, unsure what exactly he was looking for. Finally he dropped his gaze, nodding to himself. "A couple ground rules, then. I don't know what you're used to at Carmel, but New Directions is a diverse group of kids. We've worked very hard to make our choir room a place of openness and tolerance, and I want to make sure it stays that way. Second, you may have gotten accustomed to the spotlight in Vocal Adrenaline, but we have several talented girls vying for solos every week as it is. Don't expect any preferential treatment."

_You wanted a challenge_, she reminded herself as she took a deep breath and forced a pleasant smile. "I can respect that, but I'm confident that once you become acquainted with my versatile and experienced vocals you'll change your mind."

He blinked, looking at her quizzically. She had the sudden impression he was trying to decide whether or not she was making a joke.

"One last thing… I'm more than a little concerned that your mom is our competition. I can only imagine how tense that might make things for you at home, but needless to say –"

"Understood," she said, interrupting him with a raised hand. "If any information were to be mentioned in passing it could be disastrous. But remember that that goes both ways. My mom and I already talked about it. She has a home office and I have my room. Everywhere else will have to be a show-choir-free zone."

"Okay then," he said, smiling, and some of the tension left his shoulders. "I know you don't officially enroll until tomorrow, but we start rehearsal in a few minutes. Why don't you stick around? You can meet your new teammates."

She nodded. "I'd like that."

_Showtime._

* * *

><p>Finn dragged his feet toward the choir room after last period, his stomach churning uncomfortably. He should've known better than to try the "Hot Dog Surprise" at lunch, but his sandwich just wasn't cutting it. It seemed like he was suddenly allergic to everything from the cafeteria, 'cause he felt like this almost everyday lately.<p>

He was about ten minutes early, but everyone else was already in the choir room – well, except for Puck (the dude thought people who showed up _on time_ were suck ups). Finn went past his usual seat next to Quinn, trying to ignore the you're-digging-yourself-deeper glare he knew he was getting, and plopped into a chair in the back corner. He just wanted a few minutes of peace before he had to be in-charge guy again. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall.

"Okay, guys, listen up!"

That couldn't have been ten minutes. Why didn't the last ten minutes of math ever pass that quickly?

He opened his eyes slowly, just in time to catch Puck shuffling past him to a seat in the middle-back. Finn turned around towards the front, expecting to see Mr. Schue writing something on the white board, but he wasn't anywhere near it. He was over by the piano with this weird satisfied expression on his face. And standing next to him was… _WTF?_

Quinn beat him to the punch. "_What_ is _she_ doing here?"

At least he could always count on her bitch mode in these situations, though he was surprised that Rachel stood her ground under Quinn's icy glare.

Mr. Schue shot Quinn a stern glance. "Everyone, this is Rachel Berry. She just transferred here from Carmel, and I expect _all of you_ to make her feel welcome."

Finn gaped at him stupidly. _Transferred?_

"Hell with that!" scoffed Santana from across the room. "She's obviously a spy, Mr. Schue."

Finn nodded – for once, he totally agreed with Santana. "She's the one who set up that Dakota Stanley nightmare."

"_Excuse me_?" For a second he could have sworn she was actually _taller_ than him. Who could pull off looking pissed and shocked at the same time? "I seem to recall quite a few of _you_ approaching _me_ about using _our_ choreographer. I thought I was doing you a favor."

"Is she s-s-serious?" Tina demanded loudly.

"He was offensive and borderline abusive," Kurt growled. "You're not actually suggesting that's normal?"

"_Yes_!" Rachel replied without hesitation. Finn just gaped at her. This girl was a psycho. "He tried to do exactly the same thing at Carmel until my mom stopped him."

Artie gave a loud snort. "Some PTA president scared him off? Dude's not so tough."

Rachel crossed her arms and let out a sigh. "She's the coach of Vocal Adrenaline."

"…"

Finn wasn't looking around, but he'd be willing to bet the entire club was wearing the same stunned expression. She was the coach's _daughter_?

Mercedes recovered first, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You are _absolutely_ a spy!"

"Is there an echo in here, because I totally called that like ten minutes ago," Santana said, sounding almost bored.

"_Enough_, guys." Finn had forgotten Mr. Schue was even in the room. "I've spoken with Rachel and with Carmel High, and she's here to stay. So, either work out your issues or forget about them, but I don't want to hear another word in here. Rachel, welcome aboard."

His tone said that that was the end of it, but Finn knew better. He could feel Quinn fuming from here, and she definitely wasn't the only one. Rachel took a seat at the end of the front row, leaving two or three empty chairs between her and everyone else, but that also meant she was sitting almost directly in front of him. _Good_. What was that saying about friends and enemies? Well, anyway, he planned to keep an eye on her, 'cause there was no way having her in the club could lead to anything good.

"Alright, now who has something to show us from your Madonna assignment?"

Finn and every other guy – besides Kurt – groaned loudly.

* * *

><p>Rachel was the first one into the hallway after their brief rehearsal. So much for an atmosphere of "openness and tolerance." She couldn't blame the team for being suspicious, but she hadn't expected them to be so hostile about it. Fortunately, she was nothing if not resilient.<p>

It seemed like the club met almost everyday, but only had extended rehearsals in the auditorium a couple times a week. At least she could use the extra free time to make sure she wouldn't miss a step when she made her triumphant return to Vocal Adrenaline. But unless she wanted to go stir-crazy in the meantime, she needed to secure her place as a lead in New Directions.

Apparently, their choir room was a free-for-all, open mic situation, something she planned to take full advantage of. She would have to start preparing a jaw-dropping solo to showcase her voice immediately. Mr. Schuester's idea of rotating leads was very polite, but there was no reason for it when the comprehensive talent of a true star was available.

It was early enough after McKinley's last period that the halls were still pretty crowded. She had some time to kill until her mother came to pick her up, so she leaned against a row of lockers to watch her new teammates filter into the hall. She was reminded of Jesse's plan as one particularly tall male lead exited the far door and walked in the other direction.

She'd successfully infiltrated McKinley High, and now it was time to get close to Finn Hudson.

"Finn!"

Rachel watched with interest as the blonde cheerleader – Quinn – shot out of the choir room and walked purposefully up to him. Rachel was too far away to hear what they were saying, but their body language spoke volumes. They were standing close together, Quinn's hand resting easily on his arm, and Rachel noted the way the other students walked around their conversation bubble without complaint. Finn smiled suddenly, wrapping an arm around Quinn as they followed the hallway around the corner.

They were McKinley's power couple. She was sure of it. More to the point, Finn – the male lead whose heart she was supposed to capture and break all in the next six weeks – had a _girlfriend_. "The Plan" was doomed.

What had she been thinking? Seduce the male lead – sounded easy enough. Except that she was _Rachel Berry_. Wildly talented? Absolutely. Unique? No question. A natural charmer? … Judging by her friendless existence at Carmel, not so much. How was she supposed to seduce _anyone_ that easily, let alone Mr. Popular with his model-esque girlfriend?

And if she hadn't started this race two steps behind as it was, his reaction to the news of her transfer made it clear that he already hated her.

A locker banged open dangerously close to her head, and she jerked out of the way. Forcing herself to calm down – that had _not_ been an ironically timed omen – she set off down the hallway, not really paying attention to where she was going. After being jostled more than a few times, she started picking the emptiest hallways until she came to a practically vacant wing of the school.

She almost passed by an open set of double doors, but stopped suddenly when she realized she was seeing rows of chairs descending into the gloom: McKinley's auditorium. Rachel skipped through the doors and grinned, spinning slowly at the top of one aisle to survey the room. It was much smaller than Carmel's, lacking a balcony altogether. The stage was narrower, and she could only imagine what the sound system was like without Carmel's wall of Marshall speakers. Still, it was an auditorium, and already she felt more relaxed.

Racing down the aisle and up the stairs, she planted herself center stage, breathing deep. She could never explain why she felt more at home in an auditorium than she did almost anywhere else. Every time she stood on a stage, she knew who she was, where she belonged.

She was Rachel Berry. She _never_ backed down from a challenge. When it mattered most, Finn Hudson would be little more than an obstacle she had once overcome. But if her outburst with Shelby last night had proved anything, she was far from a calculating criminal mastermind. To pull this off, she would have to be as honest and true to herself as she possibly could.

Compared to a cheerleader like Quinn, she couldn't hope to draw his eye physically, so seducing him in the sexual sense was out of the question (which, honestly, was a relief since she wouldn't know where to begin). She'd have to use her most attractive quality to gain his trust: her voice. If she could just get to know him, she could decide on a next step. She'd trust her instincts to let this unfold as naturally as possible.

As for breaking his heart… she'd have to figure that out when the time came.

No matter what else happened, Rachel intended to make the most of the next six weeks. Jesse had inadvertently handed her the rare opportunity of a clean slate, and the possibilities were dazzling. She could build her reputation from the ground up. She could explore a musical vocabulary outside of wowing judges and challenging techniques. She could make _friends_. They may have been hesitant at first, but she was certain that her new teammates would come around.

* * *

><p>"She has got to go!"<p>

Quinn caught up with him after glee. She was wearing her intense determined face, which usually meant she had a project for him – or worse, that _Finn_ was her project. Just what he needed.

But the more she talked, the more sense she made.

"Our popularity is hanging by a thread. It's bad enough that we're in glee club, but if we're _bad _at it, it's a thousand times worse. We _have_ to place at Regionals, and that androgynous spy is going to ruin our chances. She can't be trusted. You know it. I know it."

_Andro – what?_ "Yeah, but Mr. Schue isn't going to kick her out, so what can we do about it?"

"You and I are going to fix this," she said, like it should be obvious.

"How?"

She seemed to relax a little and flashed him her sly smile. It was creepy how much she looked like Sue Sylvester when she did that. "We can't kick her out, but we can make her want to quit. Finn, what do you do on the football team when you want to put some loud-mouthed freshman in his place?"

"Oh, well uhh… it depends. One time we threw a kid into the pool in full pads. We filled up this other guy's car with jell-o last winter –"

She grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his skin. Oww. "_Hazing_, Finn. Rachel Berry just needs the official McKinley welcome."

It was times like these when he remembered why they had worked as a couple in the first place. He had always been impressed with her crafty take-charge mode, and it was even more awesome when she wasn't using it on him. He smiled at her, resting an arm around her shoulders as he steered them towards the locker rooms. "Got a plan?"

She nodded, shooting him a piercing glance sideways. "Leave everything to me. I just want to make sure you understand how important this is. I can't have any of your misguided attempts at chivalry screwing us up this time."

He blinked, trying to wrap his head around that last part. Oh well. He understood "Leave everything to me." As usual.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review?**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to each and every person who reviewed, favorited, and put this story on alert. I'm so glad to know people are enjoying it. Happy reading!**

**Disclaimer: Not my show, not my idea (See Prologue).**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two (AKA "Hell-O, Madonna Part 2")<strong>

Despite her best efforts, things between Rachel and her mother had gotten undeniably weird. For the second night in a row, they tip-toed around each other – literally and figuratively – trying to keep things light and amicable. But there were only so many superficial conversation topics to cover, and whenever talk strayed too close to glee or music or school, uncomfortable silences were never far behind. And silence was something Rachel did _not_ handle well.

After a short and excruciatingly quiet dinner, Rachel raced through cleaning the dishes – singing to herself to fill the silence – then mumbled something about homework and fled upstairs. She hated feeling trapped, caged, even if it was in her own bedroom _and _self-imposed. But even that was better than forcing awkward conversation just to watch that hurt expression flit across her mom's face. The guilt of knowing she had been the one to put it there was suffocating.

If only to escape the tension, Rachel couldn't get to school fast enough the next morning. Truth be told, now that she had a strategy, she was excited to put "The Plan" into motion. She had prepared a solo guaranteed to charm even the most skeptical member of New Directions. Of course, she had a full day of classes to survive first.

It took her until fifth period to realize that Finn Hudson was avoiding her. Even with trying to navigate her schedule, her books, and a new set of hallways on her first full day – not to mention the challenge of concentrating at all with Madonna's greatest hits inexplicably playing on a loop through the intercoms – she still managed to keep an eye on Finn's locker between classes. After all, she couldn't very well get to know him if they never had a conversation. Twice she thought she saw his dark hair towering over everyone else at the end of the hall, but then just as suddenly it disappeared through a door or around a corner. She was beginning to give up hope that they would have any classes together, either. She was placed mostly in advanced and honors courses, and Finn… well, he hadbeen utterly mesmerized by a _bird's nest_ when she first met him.

She passed just about every other person from glee over the course of the day, usually in twos and threes, but always together. She'd made a point during that first rehearsal to memorize their names and faces, filing away as much information about their vocal abilities as she could. It was disheartening that her friendly grins were constantly met with expressions of baffled confusion – or, in the case of that one cheerleader Santana, repulsion (_Hello, Andrea Cohen_) – but she reasoned that they simply didn't know what to make of her yet.

It was beginning to feel like her first day would never be over when she returned to her locker just before lunch. She placed the books in her hands on top of the others – she really needed to decorate the inside of her door; pastel colors, perhaps? – and was reaching for her homemade vegan lunch when she happened to glance down the hall. Surprisingly, Finn was digging inside his own locker, a red McKinley letterman jacket thrown over one shoulder. (He was a jock? Well, that explained a lot.) She abandoned her lunch for the moment and walked quickly towards him.

"Finn," she called pleasantly.

* * *

><p>He froze. That sounded like… Crap. He threw his jacket inside the locker and slammed it shut, ready to take off in the other direction. He put on the brakes just in time to avoid tripping over some dude who was kneeling to get to a bottom locker, but before he could figure out another escape route, Rachel was in front of him, arms crossed.<p>

"Uhhh hi," he said, looking everywhere but her face. Why was it always the short chicks that had crazy death glares?

"Hello…" she said, talking super slowly, and he knew she knew he'd been avoiding her all day. Busted.

"What's up?" he tried again, though it sounded lame even to him.

She didn't seem to notice, 'cause she immediately smiled. "Well, actually I'm glad I caught you, Finn. I was hoping we could work together on a project for glee."

Work together? Quinn would kill him if she caught him even _talking _to her. "Can't. I'm busy."

He tried to step around her, but she stepped with him. "I didn't suggest a time," she pointed out, and her smile faltered just a little.

"Oh. Well, I just have a lot of stuff going on, and I doubt the rest of the club would be cool with it so –"

"But that's exactly why I wanted to do it. You're the captain. I thought if we performed together they might be willing to put that unfortunate misunderstanding behind us."

He snorted. _Misunderstanding._

She must have guessed exactly what that snort meant because suddenly her jaw dropped open, her next words so soft that if he didn't know better he'd swear she sounded hurt. "You don't believe me." And then, so fast it gave him whiplash, she looked _pissed_. "Do you honestly still think I was trying to sabotage you with Dakota Stanley?"

_Duh!_ "He cut half the club right off the bat. He tried to make everyone else go on diets or get plastic surgery!" He couldn't help getting annoyed. Apparently they were having this conversation whether he wanted to or not. "You could have at least warned us."

"I thought you knew!" she shouted back at him. "He has a reputation for ruthlessly whittling a team down to its most effective elements. I thought that's what you wanted when you came looking for him."

He wanted to tell her that that was crazy, but she was looking at him all wide-eyed and desperate, and _damnit_ he believed her. Hiring Dakota Stanley had been Quinn's idea, and it would be like her to overlook his rep as an insane hardass. (She spent a lot of her time around Sue Sylvester these days.)

"If you're not a spy then why are you here?" he asked more softly, though the challenging tone in his voice was still there.

She shook her head slightly, eyes dropping to her shoes. "I just… needed to start over."

"Look, Rachel…" he began hesitantly, and she looked up at him again.

He never did figure out what he was going to say next. Before he could even begin to form the words, Rachel had literally turned blue. _What the – ?_

Another slushie flew in right after the first, soaking Rachel from the top of her head to her collarbone.

"Welcome to McKinley, _loser_!" Azimio shouted, laughing as he and Karofsky dropped the now-empty cups and high-fived each other. Finn stared after them over one shoulder as they left and saw Quinn standing off to the side, watching. She gave him a slow, knowing smirk and turned down another hallway.

_Shit. _

He turned back around to look at Rachel. She hadn't moved, her mouth open and her eyes squeezed shut as the slushie dripped down the front of her shirt. Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed one of her arms, putting his other hand on her back to steer her quickly down the hall. The lunch crowd parted, pointing as they passed, but he barely noticed. He found the nearest bathroom and pushed her gently through the door, hoping she could get to the sink on her own. Being seen with a slushie victim was as good as wearing a target on your back, but he was used to that. If he got caught coming out of a girl's bathroom… he might as well start looking to transfer himself.

* * *

><p>Rachel didn't know how she navigated the unfamiliar bathroom with her eyes closed, but somehow she felt her way to a sink and turned the hot water tap on full blast. She furiously splashed handful after handful of water onto her face to rinse the sticky syrup and ice out of her eyes. When she eventually lifted up to survey the damage in the mirror, she realized she was already crying.<p>

She had never felt so humiliated, not even when she'd tripped and nearly plummeted off the stage at her fifth grade tap recital. It was hard to feel unflappable when she couldn't stop shivering from the ice in her hair, but she would _not_ give those dim-witted jocks the satisfaction of shaking her confidence. She forced herself to focus instead on scrubbing every sticky inch of her neck.

It was a small consolation that the bathroom stayed empty; no one got to witness her shame, though she'd had plenty of an audience for the main event in the hallway. Unfortunately, that included Finn Hudson. He'd never allow himself to be seen with her now.

She threw her hair forward to wash out the worst of the thick syrup, resigning herself to a braid the rest of the day since she couldn't very well dry her hair under the hand blowers. Luckily, the blue dye didn't show so much against her forest green sweater, but she would have to scrub the neckline the moment she got home.

Finally, Rachel had to accept that her appearance was as good as it was going to get without a real shower. She practiced her strong, composed grin in front of the mirror until her lower lip stopped trembling and marched purposefully towards the hall. She yanked the door open, determined to show those unimaginative Neanderthals that Rachel Berry wasn't so easily broken, but instead she collided hard with something blocking the doorway… Or someone, apparently.

"Excuse me, I didn't – Finn?"

How did he seem to get taller every time she saw him?

He backed up to let her out into the nearly empty hall, his hands awkwardly in his pockets. "Sorry, I was… uhh… telling people the toilets had overflowed." She involuntarily grimaced, and a corner of his mouth pulled up in a half-smile. "Happens more often than you'd think."

She couldn't help but smile back gratefully. So maybe it wasn't luck that no one walked in on her after all. She glanced at the clock at the end of the hall – most people must still be in the cafeteria. Did he stand there the whole lunch period?

"The cherry one is the worst to get out of your clothes," he said conversationally. "At least, my mom is always complaining about it."

She frowned. "They did this to you, too? I don't understand… aren't you on the football team with those guys?"

"Quarterback, actually, but just about everyone in glee gets slushied." He shrugged. "You get used to it. Most of the girls keep an extra set of clothes in their locker."

"They did this because of _glee_?" Rachel didn't even try to mask her shock. Vocal Adrenaline was the epitome of cool at Carmel. She was the social outcast of the group, and even then the rest of the student body had never dared to try anything. The casual way Finn said it tugged at her heartstrings: "slushied"… like this happened everyday.

"We're a new team," he said, and she knew from his tone that he didn't think this was the reason for their bottom-of-the-barrel status either. "They just… don't get it."

She nodded, sure she would come to understand the inner workings of McKinley's social ladder in time. But if she'd had any doubts, today had proved irrefutably that she had just entered at the very bottom.

"So…" he said, looking even more uncomfortable. "What kind of a project were you thinking?"

She beamed at him, pleasantly surprised. "Really?"

He grinned crookedly at her again. "Yeah. I guess getting a slushie tossed in your face kinda makes you one of us, and if you sing half as intense as you talk… well, the club could definitely use a little motivating right now."

She nodded enthusiastically. "You won't regret it. Meet me in the choir room tomorrow at lunch."

"Cool."

Yeah, she thought, smiling easily at him. Maybe it would be.

* * *

><p>Rehearsal that afternoon was tense. Mr. Schue got everyone's attention to start, but before he could so much as pick up a marker, Rachel's hand was in the air. She marched to the front of the room, facing them all with a crazy glare Quinn would totally appreciate. Finn just had time to register the fierce gleam in her eye – he never would've guessed she'd been slushied three hours earlier if he hadn't seen it first-hand – and then she started talking so fast it sounded like she was speaking French or something. He picked out words like "talented addition" and "neglected opportunity," and he figured this all had something to do with her less-than-warm-welcome the day before.<p>

Just when he started to wonder whether he was the only one not following her, she pointed at the piano dude and he realized she was about to sing something. Curious, Finn sat up a little straighter. He didn't recognize the song or the play it was apparently from, but Mr. Schue (who smiled) and Kurt (who scoffed) both seemed to. What kind of a name was Lay Miz, anyway?

Whoa.

She hadn't been just blowing smoke. She could _sing_. He wasn't a vocal expert or anything, but he was pretty sure anyone with ears would jump to agree with him. Her voice was like nothing he'd ever heard, cutting straight through him and somehow warming his heart. It kind of reminded him of the way he felt gulping down thick, rich hot chocolate in front of a fireplace, like he used to for hours every Christmas Eve until he could have sworn the flames were inside his chest.

Rachel Berry had a voice like Christmas – and he _loved_ Christmas.

And then the music swelled, and it got really hard to remember her scary glare when her face was screwed up like she _meant _every word. The music got quiet again as her eyes opened and locked onto his, both intense and soft at the same time. They held his gaze like some kind of magnet, even from across the room, and he wondered if this was what it felt like to be hypnotized. He literally couldn't look away. Strangely, he didn't think he wanted to.

She held out one last, soft note as the music died off completely, and he applauded along with the rest of the club – some more bitterly than others. Rachel finally broke their eye-lock to glance at Mr. Schue, but it wasn't until his cheeks started to ache that Finn realized he was grinning. Suddenly, he couldn't wait to rehearse with her tomorrow.

Rachel sat down, and Mr. Schue started talking again. No, not talking. Lecturing. He was "disappointed" that all the guys – except Kurt – were still acting standoffish about the assignment.

"It's not personal, Mr. Schue," Artie explained. "Madonna just doesn't really hold my attention."

"He means her music," said Puck. "That MILF is _smokin'_."

"Truth!" Artie breathed, and a few more guys whistled or grunted in agreement.

Predictably, all the girls suddenly looked furious. Artie shrank into his chair when Tina gave him the stink eye, and even Rachel whipped her head around in surprise.

"You know what, that is _it_." Mercedes' got out of her chair and faced Puck with her hands on her hips. _Uh oh. _"Y'all have been pulling this tough guy bull all week and I'm sick off it. You _really_ need to get over yourselves."

"Let's not –" Finn started to say, but Puck cut him off.

"Like you didn't whine every damn day until we sat through your little 'R&B appreciation week'."

Mercedes held up a finger, her voice dangerously soft. "Oh I know you're not about to diss Whitney!"

"Whatever," Santana said as she crossed her arms with a huff. "I'm _still_ waiting to spice this place up with some Latin _flava_."

Quinn sighed loudly on Finn's other side. "Not that again."

"I have chili peppers in my locker, San," Brittany offered, smiling like she'd just solved everything. Everyone paused to look confusedly at her, and Finn wanted to smile, too. If only it were that simple.

"Guys!" Mr. Schue called from the front of the room, obviously desperate to change the subject. "The point here is _not _that one person is right and everyone else is miserable. We should all –"

"Like hell it's not."

"We're _supposed_ to be a team!" He just caught Tina's soft voice through all the grumbling.

"We weren't a team when you protested doing Coldplay…"

Arguments broke out all over the room. Finn had to scoot his chair back a few inches so he wouldn't get caught in the line of fire – Quinn and Santana were both leaning around him to scream at each other. He could just make out Rachel through the Cheerios' wildly gesturing arms, watching the drama unfold in something like horror.

Maybe the cattle prod wasn't such a bad idea.

When Finn looked up to see how short Mr. Schue's fuse was today, he was surprised to see their teacher looking sadly back at him. Finn guiltily dropped his eyes to his shoes. He knew Mr. Schue was hoping he'd say something to back him up. He totally would've, if it had half a shot of working,.

Actually, Madonna's music didn't really do it for him either, though he didn't want to piss off Mr. Schue (or Quinn) even more by saying so. The other guys might work on a group number to humor the girls, but none of them were going to go home and put something together on their own time. Finn didn't see the big deal either way, but if they were digging their heels in this much over it, it wasn't worth blowing this up even more.

He'd have caught up with Mr. Schue later and told him so, but he was tired of getting stuck awkwardly in the middle. Mr. Schue meant well, but he was surprisingly clueless – so much that even _Finn_ could tell – at knowing when club issues were about the music and when they were about the people.

Before Finn realized it, rehearsal was over – most of the guys had to leave for practice and it wasn't worth it to keep going with barely half the club even when they weren't at each other's throats. He shuffled to the door with his head down, waiting to hear Mr. Schue call after him… but it never happened. He reached the hall, and turned to watch the door closing slowly behind him in surprise. He should be relieved that he was off the hook, but he actually felt more worried than ever.

All this arguing over assignments wasn't new. From day one, Mr. Schue challenged them to find their own voices and look for music that made them each different. He probably just wanted to give them the confidence to stand up and sing, but instead it started a competition that never stopped. _Someone_ was always complaining about not being heard, no matter what the assignment was. Finn had gotten used to being Mr. Schue's go-to second in command whenever that happened, so what made this different? Was Madonna the last straw? Had they finally pushed him too far?

Was Mr. Schue… giving up?

They were officially _screwed_.

* * *

><p>The next day, Quinn cornered Finn on his way to meet Rachel in the choir room, looking so angry he could practically see steam coming out of her ears. What had he done now?<p>

"You helped _clean her off_?" she hissed at him, hands on her hips.

Crap. He had been meaning to talk to her about the Rachel situation, but as always Quinn was three steps ahead of him.

He backpedaled automatically. "No!… Not exactly. I just helped her find a bathroom. She couldn't really see with all that corn syrup in her eyes."

"_Finn_! What did I say about your idiotic chivalry?"

He shrugged innocently. "I don't know. I didn't even know what that meant."

Her voice lowered to a bitter growl. "It meant that she was _supposed_ to be humiliated. How do you expect me to get rid of her with you being all _nice_?"

He took a deep breath and braced himself to get slapped. She was _not_ going to like this. "Look, I know I didn't trust her either, but I think… maybe… she could help us."

He gulped at the look on her face. She was going to kill him. Literally.

"Do you have a _concussion_?" Quinn cried. "She shows up right when we become a threat… her _mom_ is their coach… and you think she wants to help us? Every minute she stays is another minute she's working to bring the club down."

"Maybe that's true," he said carefully. "But just think for a second. We don't have a prayer at Regionals the way the club is acting right now. She was their _lead_. If anyone could help us beat them it'd be her – you heard her sing yesterday. And if I'm wrong about her… well, then we're no worse off than we are now. I want us to be together on this, but, I'm sorry, I won't help you drive her out."

Quinn shook her head slowly, gazing up at him. "She's really done a number on you. And you think glee is the only thing you're gambling."

"What else would I be worried about?"

Immediately he knew he'd said the wrong thing. He thought Quinn was about to bitch some more, but then her shoulders dropped a fraction, the muscles in her jaw stopped bulging, and her eyes swam like she was about to cry. For a second, he forgot they were in the hallway with tons of people around. He realized he wasn't looking at her icy bitch mode. This was her vulnerable side, the one she never showed him on purpose, _especially_ at school.

"Quinn," he started to say, but in a flash she was glaring at him again, her eyes still glossy. She didn't say another word, but turned and marched away. She'd never given up yelling at him before. He must have really stepped in it this time, though he didn't have a clue _how_.

He walked the rest of the way to the choir room slowly, knowing Rachel was waiting for him. He felt way too confused to be excited about rehearsing anymore.

* * *

><p>Rachel paced next to the piano nervously, sorting through sheet music to occupy her hands. She had been able to enlist the services of the band without much trouble, but a nagging voice in the back of her head wondered if it might all be for nothing. She glanced frantically between the two open doors as the seconds ticked away on the clock. What if he didn't come?<p>

But four minutes after the lunch bell rang, his tall form appeared in the left doorway, and she let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, smiling broadly as he shut the door behind him. "Finn, I'm glad you're here," she said excitedly. "I never did thank you for your help yesterday –"

"Forget it," he said shortly, staring somewhere over her head.

"Okay," she replied, handing him his copy of the music across the piano. "I have put together a mash-up that flatters both of our voices _and_ fits into the Madonna assignment for the week."

He seemed to process this information very slowly, furrowing his eyebrows as he glanced at her, down at the sheet music, and back up at her again. "You want us to sing Madonna?"

"Well, I thought that would be the best use of our time, though I bet you're already hard at work on something to fix the dismal morale." She leaned eagerly towards him across the piano. "Which song were you thinking?"

"Uhh," he said, looking even more confused. "Song?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He couldn't actually be this thick. "The boys revealed a complete disrespect for the girls at rehearsal yesterday. Didn't you notice all the animosity in that room?"

"Well, yeah," he shrugged guiltily, "but honestly that's kinda normal. It'll blow over and then everyone will be pissed about something else next week."

Rachel couldn't believe what she was hearing. "And you just accept that? As captain, it's your responsibility to maintain good morale and a positive creative atmosphere."

"I know that, okay?" he snapped at her. "I just can't do all that for glee _and_ basketball_ and _my friends. Besides, the glee drama usually starts as couples' drama, which is _really_ none of my business. They can fix it without my help."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. He had a point, and she could certainly see why he was struggling to find a solution. Still, to let such little things continue to get in the way of the group's performance would be irresponsible. "Maybe you don't have to fix it. Maybe you just have to remind them that there are bigger and more important things than their petty arguments."

He threw his hands up, clearly unconvinced. "Okay, _how_?"

She smiled brightly. "Well, that's the beauty of glee. The right song fixes everything."

He blinked at her, mouth open slightly.

"Ready to give it a try?" she asked, lifting the sheet music.

Looking a little bewildered, Finn carried his copy over to the band. The drummer nodded to him and moved out of the way, offering Finn the drumsticks as if this was routine. Her eyebrows shot upwards in surprise, but she cued Brad for the piano intro without comment.

Rachel fixed her gaze on Finn as she belted the first verse, pouring raw feeling into her voice. A corner of his mouth lifted as he looked back at her, drumming a steady tempo. The lyrics weren't quite as apt for their situation as she would've liked, but the tone of these two songs together – fraught, emotional turmoil – was something she hoped he could relate to. She circled him as closely as the drum set would allow, as though she could elicit a reaction out of him through sheer proximity.

She smiled back when Finn's voice split the air at the chorus. She had not forgotten his surprising vocal charisma from Sectionals, but now that he was back in his element, back in his own choir room, he suddenly seemed to pulse with energy. He didn't glance down at his sheet music once, though it was draped over his left knee (the one not bouncing in time with the base drum). Still, he never missed a beat, and all the while he kept his eyes on her.

Delighted at his obvious enthusiasm, she grinned around the lyrics, harmonizing with him through the rest of the chorus and into the bridge. She could never have predicted that his voice would complement hers so well. As paradoxical as it sounded in theory, the lighter, rougher tambour of his voice somehow blended with the clearer, richer tone of hers so thoroughly that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. She never wanted it to end.

All at once, she felt the energy in the room reach a boiling point, and Finn leapt away from the drum set and handed off the sticks to the band's drummer, grinning that crooked grin as he stalked purposefully toward her. She skipped playfully away from him, letting him chase her around the piano in something like cat-and-mouse choreography (which, she realized belatedly, was also quite appropriate for the one-sided infatuation the mash-up expressed). But as the music soared into the last verse, she let him catch up, bracing one arm against the piano as she twirled around to face him.

Her eyes fell closed at the last, glorious note. How Finn knew exactly when to cut off when she hadn't given him a cue, she could only guess, but she couldn't take the time to wonder about it when she could barely draw a full breath.

She stared up at him in wonder, feeling suddenly self-conscious at their proximity. It was as though that last chord had struck her like a tuning fork, leaving her vibrating on the spot long after it had faded away. She always bared her soul when she sang – it was part of the appeal, the rush that never grew old. Only now, something else was crackling in the air between them, some palpable, nameless feeling that hadn't ended with the music. She met his eyes apprehensively, all too aware of the lingering tension. He looked exactly as flushed as she felt.

"Th-That was good," she finally managed to stutter breathlessly.

"Totally."

* * *

><p>Singing with Rachel was seriously intense.<p>

Okay, more than intense… maybe even a little scary, but in a good way… almost like a rollercoaster. It had been years since that time he'd gotten to go up to Cedar Point for a birthday party, but he definitely remembered how it felt after that first ride, the way his head wouldn't stop spinning and the ground under his feet had suddenly seemed _different_ somehow than when he'd last walked on it.

Of course he'd almost tripped over his own feet getting right back in line then, and he was fully ready for another run-through with Rachel now. At least, he _was_… until his stomach growled so loudly he heard it echoing off the choir room walls.

It clearly startled her – he thought she might be doing a deer-in-the-headlights impersonation for a second – until his stomach gurgled again and she figured out where the sound was coming from. He half-expected her to be pissed, as seriously as she obviously took her music, but she had just giggled, looking relieved for some reason.

She was still breathing really hard. "It probably wasn't a good idea for us to risk our health when the team is depending on us to be at our physical best," she admitted, smiling.

If that meant that him missing lunch helped no one, he wholeheartedly agreed.

* * *

><p>She stared after him as he flashed her one last crooked smile and left for the cafeteria. As soon as he was out of sight, she let her arms flop dramatically over the piano.<p>

What was wrong with her? They held the last note for barely a full measure – she shouldn't be so breathless.

She _must_ have been neglecting her vocal regimen if one Madonna mash-up left her winded. Or maybe she was getting sick; she hadn't missed a day of school in two years, but there was a chance her recent commitment to a vegan lifestyle was compromising her nutritional health.

It would be nothing short of tragic if she was forced to concede her moral values for the sake of her vocal fitness… though it could make for an inspiring and bittersweet chapter of her memoirs one day: how she conceived of the idea for a foundation to give back to the animals who had suffered so that Rachel Berry could bring her voice to the stage and the world beyond.

But of course she was overreacting. She had given up her lunch period for rehearsal; she simply hadn't eaten in a while. That was quite easily fixed, though she would put in a call to their family doctor if it happened again.

* * *

><p>That afternoon, for the first time ever, Mr. Schue let everyone else go early, asking to talk to just the boys. Finn's first thought was that they were in trouble, and he turned to look at Puck the same time everyone else did. Even if Mr. Schue wasn't wearing his lecture face and didn't look angry, exactly, it was a still pretty safe bet that Puck had done something stupid.<p>

But instead Mr. Schue passed out sheet music and asked them to come stand at the piano. And then Finn started to wonder if maybe he and Rachel had, like, corna – coorda – planned out their speeches or something. This one was slower than Rachel's mash-up, but it still wasn't as bad as he thought it'd be, for a Madonna song. Personally, he would have cranked up the base and added a drum solo somewhere, but he figured that wasn't Mr. Schue's point.

Of course Puck had to throw in his two cents, but it was still the least hostile Finn had seen him all week whenever this assignment came up. Maybe something about that song had hit a little too close to home, or maybe Puck was just tired of all the fighting (_yeah, right_), but something Rachel said suddenly made a little more sense: "The right song fixes everything."

He was pretty sure the song hadn't actually calmed Puck down, or made Kurt all wise, or gotten Artie to admit he'd been objectifying Tina. But if it hadn't been for that song, he doubted they'd all be standing around the piano right now, really talking about the girls' feelings instead of acting too cool for them like they had been all week.

Mr. Schue finally sent them home, reaching up to clap Finn on the shoulder like he'd just thrown a touchdown or something. But the game wasn't over yet.

Most of the club's issues probably weren't even close to his business, but they were his one shot at getting out of Lima. Hell, they were _all_ each other's best hope for that, and he would never get over it if they all lost because he was so busy trying to be the cool guy that he let them down as a captain. And on top of that, they were his _friends_, no matter how much Quinn tried to keep from being associated with them outside of the choir room. Rachel was right – maybe he couldn't be the leader _and_ everyone's favorite person, but if it meant winning Regionals, getting _scholarships_, did it even matter?

Finn left the choir room feeling like he was on a mission. Even if he didn't know how to fix all their problems, he'd been paying attention. The club's drama was pretty obvious, anyway. The dudes needed to make things right with the girls. He had a feeling this whole thing was about way more than Madonna, but if performing one of her songs meant that much to them, he'd bully the other guys into it if he had to.

Mr. Schue needed to see that his opinion mattered. Even if they didn't always agree, he was their director, and they couldn't do this without him.

Rachel needed a way in with the rest of the club. Her voice was the secret weapon they'd been looking for, but it wouldn't do them any good if the team wouldn't get their heads out of their asses long enough to work with her. They'd just have to get over that. But unless he wanted all the other egos in the club to freak out and quit, they needed their share of the spotlight, too.

And then there was Quinn. He didn't know what was happening with them, or why it felt like their relationship was drying up, but it wasn't fair to make her the bad guy over a slushie. He'd thought Rachel was evil, too, until he'd actually talked to her. He knew Quinn just wanted the same thing he did – for them to win. She may have gone about it the wrong way, but she needed to know that she could trust him to take care of this.

The last time the team had rallied together in song, it was more like a patch job – just something to put off the fighting until after Sectionals. He wasn't sure one song could actually _fix_ all the drama gumming up the works, but he had a feeling Rachel knew what she was talking about. And at this point, he'd try anything.

So he needed a Madonna song they could all sing together, something that didn't sound like it came from a chick flick soundtrack. They'd been blasting her music all week through the intercoms… he had to remember at least a couple of 'em… Wait – there was that one he'd gotten stuck in his head in math the other day. He never paid much attention in that class anyway, but it wasn't even worth it to try around the music. He remembered thinking that the lyrics were majorly weird, like maybe Madonna was high or something when she wrote it, but now they were actually kinda perfect.

Puck's Call of Duty marathon would have to wait; he had something more important to do this weekend.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I really had a good time envisioning Finn's "eureka" moment being all literal with the lyrics to "Like a Prayer." Seriously, go look 'em up. "No choice, your voice will take me there..." Rachel = voice, there = Regionals. Seems like a very Finn conclusion to draw. **

**The songs mentioned were "On My Own," "Open Your Heart/Borderline," and "What It Feels Like (For A Girl)."**

**Okay, time to get excessively wordy here for a minute, but it's potentially crucial to your full enjoyment of this story.**

**On which S1 plotlines happened and which ones didn't: When I conceived the alternate history to this story, I thought of Rachel's absence like a butterfly effect. Use your imagination, and most of it comes up common sense. Like Rachel didn't get them cast in that commercial in Mattress, so Mr. Schue was still there for them at Sectionals. Etc etc. And as many of you have hopefully figured out, Quinn is not pregnant here. My personal theory about that is that in canon Quinn and Puck had sex somewhere between Quinn witnessing Finn and Rachel's chemistry during "Push It" and the end of the episode when she decided to join glee to get Finn back. The point being that she cheated because she was threatened by Rachel, that seeing them together made her insecure. So she and Finn are still together in this universe, but without the baby to rekindle their commitment, they've continued to drift apart. But... that doesn't affect the foundation for any Quick feelings that may have been there all along... just sayin'.**

**The other thing I should probably explain is the heightened club bickering in this universe. On the show, Rachel was the clear leader, and she was their go to soloist. Even if people like Kurt and Mercedes were always begging to be featured more, the knowledge that they had a tried and true formula to fall back on was comforting. It took off some of the pressure around competition time. They could brainstorm how to perform instead of what to perform. The same goes for Mr. Schue. He could give them any assignment he came up with, and Rachel would take it seriously and make him look brilliant, not to mention putting pressure on the rest of the club to keep up with her. The club has never experienced that here, so it's a very different dynamic with everyone still fighting over the title of "most original."**

**It's also been suggested to me that I should explain why I'm handling the music the way I am. Every time I read a fic that includes lyrics, I always find myself scrolling past them. But this is Glee, and obviously music is a huge part of their lives, so I also wouldn't want to ignore that completely. On the show, they use music to tell the story, and this is my attempt to accomplish the same thing on paper, digging at why they chose that song, what it feels like to perform it, what it's helping them to work through, rather than **on the song itself**. **

**I'm following the back nine, so the plus side is that all of the music you'll see mentioned here should be familiar already. What's different is the emotions and motivations of the characters going into these numbers because of that altered storyline, and that's what I'll be focusing on. (I should clarify that not _every _song performed on the show will appear here - some obviously don't happen at all because of the continuity changes, but others just happen in the background because they don't directly relate or affect this alternate storyline.) I will also credit the song titles at the end of every chapter, just in case there's any doubt which song it was. Hopefully, you still feel the presence of the music, but if you really need something extra, listen to it in the background (that's what I do when I'm writing the scene). This feels like the right way to do it, but I've never done (or read) anything like this before, so I really would appreciate any feedback from you guys about how it's coming across.**

**I'm getting off my soapbox. And please do review. I'd love to get your thoughts on all this, and they make me giddy.**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: I know, I know - I suck. I write these an entire episode at a time to keep it cohesive, and this one has been literally kicking my ass since April. But I'm really happy with the result now, so I hope you guys enjoy it.**

**I've been remiss about thanking the two people who help me stop obsessively editing long enough to actually write new stuff. Mysti and Maddi (the alliteration just makes it that much more fun), these guys would still be waiting for an update if it weren't for you two.**

**Also, a HUGE thank you to all of you who are still reading after my extended hiatus, and to anyone just discovering the story: Welcome!**

**Disclaimer: Not my show, not my idea. (See prologue.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three (AKA "Home Part 1")<strong>

Finn couldn't help walking a little taller on Tuesday morning, like everyone was watching him pass by in slow motion while bass-heavy, James Bond theme music played from invisible speakers. Okay, maybe it was just the people in glee returning his dopey grin as he saw them. But it was enough to make him want to pat himself on the back for a job well done (but not _literally_, so he wouldn't look weird). If he did say so himself, "Like a Prayer" had been _epic_.

Maybe he was taking the song too literally, but it definitely sounded religious to him with all that talk of prayers and angels. Mercedes had jumped at the idea, and apparently so did her church choir because they all showed up Monday afternoon in those shiny yellow dress-things, ready to back them up.

Finn could barely _follow_ simple choreography, so it was a no-brainer to get Mike, Matt, and Brittany to help him lay it out for the whole club. She would never admit it, but he was pretty sure Santana had helped too, since she and Brittany were sort of a package deal (according to Quinn).

Artie had been sitting right there when Finn talked to Mercedes, and by the time they got to the auditorium for rehearsal, he and the A/V club had rustled up the realest-looking fake stained-glass windows Finn had ever seen.

And Mercedes and Kurt had been so happy with their solos they'd barely protested when they saw he'd given Rachel one too.

It wasn't often one of his ideas turned out so well, and even though it had totally been a team effort, he couldn't help feeling like he had Rachel to thank. Sure, the rest of the team had shot him more than a few angry looks every time she made them stop to iron out some detail no one else would've thought twice about, but at least they'd stopped acting like maybe she'd crawl back to Carmel if they all just ignored her.

With all that stop-and-go, it took more than twice the normal amount of rehearsing before they did a full run-through with the costumes and lighting, but when they finally did… Finn didn't have words for it. (Which wasn't new, but this time he was pretty sure no one else did either.)

Maybe it was just to show Rachel up, but Kurt and Mercedes sounded like they'd definitely kicked it up a few notches. And it could've just been everyone feeding off of the choir, but the energy in the auditorium had been unreal.

He'd also never seen the club so… well, _chummy_… after a performance. Everywhere he looked, people were hugging, clapping, cheering wildly, and Finn knew exactly how they felt. He had just spotted Quinn on the opposite end of the stage when the nearest choir person grabbed him by the collar and yanked him down for a tight hug, then released him just as quickly and skipped off towards Mike. Matt barely had time to detangle his arm from Artie's as Santana practically tackled him. Finn's heart had pounded in his chest as he'd started across the stage, clapping shoulders and bumping fists.

And then he'd watched as _Brittany_, of all people, pulled Rachel into an enthusiastic hug, and he'd almost stopped dead in disbelief. _Could it really be that easy?_ One song – one incredible song – and they were a family again. _And Rachel was one of them_, he realized, as Brittany leapt over to Tina next, and Finn couldn't help himself. He picked up Rachel and spun her around, positive he was grinning like an idiot.

He was pretty sure he hadn't stopped since.

The one person he couldn't find after they'd wrapped for the day was Quinn, but he didn't let it bother him too much. If she was upset, it was only a matter of time until she'd be in his face about it.

In the meantime, he didn't think it'd be too soon to call this mission officially _accomplished._

* * *

><p>Rachel didn't expect "Like a Prayer" to fix everything.<p>

She knew what the right song could do, how it could feel, the sense of accomplishment and unity that came with harnessing so much talent into one cohesive force. That feeling was the most intoxicating drug there was, not that she had tried any of the others. (Through the ever-watchful eye of TMZ, she had witnessed too many promising careers derailed that way.) The right song was catharsis. But the way Finn had described the glee club's problems, she feared the most it could do was shift their focus, merely ask them to set their problems aside in the spirit of the club's best interest.

And yet, to all appearances, everything truly was _okay_.

The choir room felt like a completely different place as Rachel dutifully took notes on Tuesday morning. The palpable tension she'd come to expect had seemingly evaporated overnight. It should have bothered her more that she was the only one copying down every scale Mr. Schuester – or Mr. Schue, as she was getting used to calling him – wrote on the white board, when she had memorized the number of sharps and flats in every major and minor scale by her second piano lesson at age four. But she couldn't bring herself to spoil the fun.

She was pretty sure a few people were doodling, while others had long-since abandoned the pretense of note-taking, their heads bent towards each other in cheery, whispered conversation. Even Mr. Schue was lecturing with a little more _pep _than she guessed was normal. When her eyes finally came to rest on Finn in his puffy blue vest, his chair tilted back against the wall at the opposite end of the room, she saw he hadn't even opened his backpack. But at least he was looking towards the front, an expression she could only describe as pride lighting up his face.

Good. If anyone deserved credit for this renewed camaraderie, it was him.

The memory of their duet still made her giddy, and not just because of their undeniable chemistry. She had seen his expression after that song, the depth of emotion in his gaze. She had never met anyone who _felt_ music the way she did. Maybe she had underestimated him.

Rachel had acted on impulse last week. The moment she'd heard of the problems plaguing their glee club, had seen Finn's obvious frustration, she couldn't _not_ help him. It wasn't until later that she realized the absurdity of the situation.

Why was she helping them at all? They were her _competition_. The entire reason she was here was to sabotage them before Regionals. Then again, she had agreed to a plan, and while it might be underhanded, it wasn't technically cheating. "The Plan" hinged on making herself an integral part of this group, and she could never gain their trust, could never gain _Finn's_ trust, if she took every opportunity to tear them down.

"Like a Prayer" had proven something. Finn was utterly invested in his team; it was the mark of a great leader, and that dedication would be his Achilles' heel. It was obvious now; her best hope to get close to him was to have him rely on her for the club's sake, convince him that she wanted to make them great, too.

She wouldn't even have to pretend. It had been genuinely rewarding to help them perfect that number, to feed off of their diverse creativity and focus it, synchronize it, make it whole. Though it was beyond corny, she couldn't deny that _glee_ had permeated every inch of that auditorium as they performed for their beaming audience of one, and Rachel had been surprised to find herself excited _for_ them, cheering just as loudly for their first successful run-through.

And in the jubilant hysteria that followed, Rachel had found herself in Finn's arms. He'd lifted her up and spun her 'til she was dizzy, finally setting her back on her feet with dimples set deep into his cheeks. Her heart, already racing from the song, had somersaulted in her chest. It was almost too easy to forget she wasn't really one of them when he included her in such a team moment like it was a given, like she belonged there.

Rachel smiled at the memory and glanced over at Finn, surprised to find him watching her with a bemused expression on his face. She blushed and turned her head quickly back towards the front again, only to realize everyone else in the choir room was packing up their things.

"Alright, one final announcement before we all leave," said Mr. Schue as he settled back onto his stool. "We can't use the auditorium for the next week."

That got everyone's attention, though Finn spoke up first. "But that's garbage. How are we supposed to practice for Regionals without the auditorium?"

"The Cheerios need it to practice in. There's nothing I can do," their teacher admitted, shrugging helplessly.

Rachel's jaw dropped in surprise before she clamped it shut and raised her chin in defiance of whatever warped system gave the cheerleaders precedence over glee in the auditorium. Even the theater department at Carmel had to plan their productions around Vocal Adrenaline's competition season. This simply would not do. She stood, raising a hand for attention. "I recommend a sit-in."

"I recommend we _torch_ the place," came Noah Puckerman's voice, and she had to roll her eyes as she sat back in her seat.

"_No_," said Mr. Schue firmly. "Look, we've all faced adversity before and we've come out stronger on the other end. I'm going to check out a few off-site locations for us to use, just for the week. I promise I'll find us a new home."

The bell rang, and Rachel cradled her notebooks in one arm as she wove through bodies and chairs towards the hall.

"Hey, wait up!" a voice called after her before she even reached the door. She smiled, turning as she stopped to wait for Finn. Except that it wasn't Finn jogging to catch up to her at all.

"Noah?"

"It's Puck, babe."

Her gaze quickly swept the rest of the room to see if anyone else had noticed this weirdness. Mr. Schue had retreated to his connecting office, and almost everyone else had already left, but Brittany seemed to be talking herself through re-tying her shoes in the last row, and Finn was standing with his back to her near the other door, discussing something poster-sized Kurt had laid on top of the piano.

When she focused her attention back on Puck, he gave her a knowing smirk, his eyes moving to Finn and back to her, before settling on her chest. "Can I help you with something?"

He dragged his gaze up to her face. "Actually, _I_ can help _you_. It's a jungle out in those halls. One wrong step and you'll end up in social quicksand or get eaten by a bear." Rachel cringed at the suggestive note that crept into his voice at the mention of anything eating her. "As a fellow hot Jew, I feel it's my duty to offer you my services, be your _guido_."

She opened her mouth to ask what made him so sure she was Jewish, but almost immediately closed it – her nose had been the source of many of her insecurities when she was younger – but Puck appeared not to notice her discomfort as he waited for her reply. From the self-assured expression on his face, he clearly thought he had just made her day.

Rachel opted not to give him a hard time, seeing as he'd approached her with a sincere, albeit bizarre, olive branch. "I appreciate the thought, but I think I can manage on my own."

Puck shrugged, already turning away. "Offer stands. Jews of a feather, and all that."

She watched him saunter through the doorway, drawing her brows together with a frown. Noah Puckerman was the team's infamous troublemaker – that much she knew from passing observation. She could be sure that any of his attentions, whatever the reason, were decidedly unwanted. She shook her head, and, seeing that she was now the only one left in the choir room, scampered into the hall.

* * *

><p>Just his luck – it had to be <em>today<em> that Finn forgot his backpack in the choir room. But it _so_ wasn't his fault. Kurt had distracted him with that whole hunting-lodge fabric-poster thing, and he'd been halfway to math before he realized. But he had a test this period, and if he had even the slightest hope of faking his way to passing, he needed his calculator.

He pushed his way out of the stairwell at the choir room floor, almost breaking into a run as he hurried past the few stragglers still wandering around, and spotted Rachel walking towards him with an open notebook under her nose. He slowed down in spite of himself.

"Hey!"

She looked up and smiled, tilting her book up against her chest. "Hey, Finn."

Something really shiny caught his attention (not her hair, though he'd sometimes wondered why it was always shiny enough to throw light back up in his eyes whenever he stood close enough) and as she passed him he realized her notebook was totally covered in sparkly stickers and doodles and stuff. All the music notes drawn on there gave him an idea, and he turned back around to get her attention.

"Are you doing something?" he blurted out – totally _not_ the smoothest thing he could've said. Rachel's smile tilted into a sort of amused smirk as she turned and stopped too, and he rushed to explain. "Not, like, _right now_. I just mean, I guess Mr. Schue was so focused on the auditorium that he didn't give us an assignment this week. So maybe we could work on something together… it doesn't even have to be another duet. Maybe you could just kinda help me sing better… just like some tips… or something…?"

He was pretty sure he sounded like a world class spaz, but Rachel's smile just got wider the longer he talked.

"You've come to the right starlet. The auditorium would of course be ideal for visualization and projection purposes, but as that's not an option… How about the choir room? After school tomorrow?"

He nodded. "Awesome. Don't go anywhere, okay? I just gotta grab my bag."

She nodded quickly, still grinning at him, and he jogged the rest of the way down the hall, skidding to a stop so he could duck into the choir room.

* * *

><p>As soon as Finn was out of earshot, Quinn marched into Rachel's line of vision, stopping close enough to completely block Finn's retreating figure from sight. She glared coldly down her nose until Rachel wiped that stupid little smile off her face.<p>

"Time for some girl talk," she said, and her tone made it clear that _she_ was going to be doing all of the talking.

"About what, Quinn?" Rachel asked in her usual, cheery tone.

Quinn's _very _limited patience was fading fast, giving way to frustration at Rachel's seemingly unshakeable calm. "I know you're weirdly obsessed with metaphors, so I'll put this in terms you can understand: high school is no different than a cheerleading pyramid. Finn and I run this place, top of the pyramid. You're what we use to wax the gym floors." She would've had to admit to being a little impressed when Rachel didn't even blink – if it didn't tick her off that much more.

"You think I'm inferior to you because I love glee or because I love singing? I've seen you in rehearsals, Quinn. You might be hoping no one will notice, but I _know_ you love it, too. Why deny yourself something that makes you happy?"

Quinn shook her head at the new girl's nerve, determined to steer this conversation elsewhere. "That might be what you have to tell yourself to get out of bed and into that stupid sweater in the morning, but it's not reality. This is _my_ school, _my_ rules, and you're delusional if you think for a _second_ that you have a chance with _my_ boyfriend."

It was a test; she wanted to catch Rachel off-guard, find out if she, like so many other girls, just let Finn's obnoxious need to please _absolutely everyone_ go to her head, or if she was actually pathetic enough to think she could have him. When she saw Rachel falter, surprised guilt all over her face, Quinn knew she hadn't been wrong.

Rachel just stood there, wide-eyed, like she couldn't decide whether to defend herself or play dumb, and Quinn narrowed her eyes. "He may like your voice, but eventually he'll realize you have nothing else he wants."

Rachel's only reaction was a tiny shake of her head as she turned on her heel to hurry down the hallway, but not before Quinn saw her lip trembling, tears gathering in her eyes. And that, she hoped, would be the end of _that_.

"Quinn?"

She turned, surprised, to see Finn approaching from the other direction, trailing his backpack at his side. But he didn't look angry, so she assumed he didn't overhear.

"Hey," she answered sweetly. "What are you still doing here?"

"I just, uh, forgot my bag and then Mr. Schue asked me – what were you doing with Rachel?"

"Just a little housekeeping," she replied, not untruthfully. "I needed to clear the air."

"But you hate her."

She rolled her eyes a little. He would pick now to start asking questions. "Can we not talk about Rachel anymore? Don't you have class?"

"Crap, yeah. Test, actually. I'll see you later." He leaned to kiss her cheek even as he took off, so it landed somewhere on her hair instead.

She let out a heavy breath as he jogged away, but she propped her arms akimbo and kept walking.

* * *

><p>Shelby Corcoran had never been what people might call a "softy." She had never understood the appeal of baby animals, for instance, or humanity's supposedly universal love of "Kumbaya". Still, certain things brought it out in her – her daughter (in those rare moments when Rachel acted sixteen), Funny Girl (obviously), Bon Jovi's "Never Say Goodbye" (Every. Single. Time.) – but one thing that never had and probably never would was her students.<p>

She remembered vividly the hell that had been her own high school years, and her time spent as a teacher and the choir director at Carmel left her certain that not much had changed. Teenagers were still teenagers; they were desperate either to stand out or blend in, and the ones that stood out were doomed to become one kind of victim or another (even if it meant preemptively victimizing someone else).

Shelby knew this, and tried not to judge her students too harshly for it. It would be as unreasonable as blaming dancers for bad choreography. Thankfully, Vocal Adrenaline showed sense enough to leave the system's rules outside of rehearsal… or so she had thought.

Things had been different ever since she learned that her team had all but driven Rachel out of this school. She couldn't help but see Vocal Adrenaline in a new light, one not exactly rose-tinted. She would _never_ sink so low as to intentionally punish them in rehearsal, but clearly her guilt and frustration with the whole situation had put her on edge.

"Seriously, guys? We're going for shock and awe here, and I'm barely getting a toe-tapping good time. Would a defibrillator would put some pep in your step? _Again_!" She pushed the table mic away from her, watching the run-through with about half of her usual enthusiasm. Rachel's palpable absence weighed heavily on her mind.

She _wanted_ to focus on Vocal Adrenaline, but there was that constant nagging thought that wouldn't go away, the one convinced that it had been Shelby's presence that alienated Rachel from the rest of the team, that wondered if, without her there, Rachel might have belonged. True, Rachel's relentless pursuit of the spotlight repelled many of her peers on a daily basis, but the team had always managed to put their personal issues aside when it served performances in the past, especially in the face of great talent. It was what made them champions. But for Rachel they'd made an exception, and driven not just her daughter, but a star performer away. And so Shelby felt somewhat vindicated, knowing that they were not blameless either. And if her temper burned faster and hotter than before… well, that was just too bad for them.

Jesse in particular seemed to expect her foul mood these days, and either he had warned the rest of the team or they just figured out that Shelby's new Dakota Stanley impression wasn't a joke. But she had to admit that they had never worked harder. Once they discovered she'd make them start a routine from the top every time she saw so much as a fingernail out of place, they did their best to get it right the first time.

Some days, like today, she had to force herself not to prolong rehearsal just to see how much they could take, when she knew the routine was as perfect as her eyes and their bodies could make it. It wasn't that she was avoiding Rachel, who got home hours before Shelby these days (a fact the part of her constantly in coach mode filed away about New Directions' rehearsal habits), but she _was_ avoiding the awkwardness that neither of them seemed able to shake at home.

For a week now, dinners had been shared in near-silence, and afterwards Rachel would disappear into her room. Shelby's natural impulse was to switch into stern parent mode and follow her, but Rachel wasn't being rebellious – in fact, the wary looks Rachel sometimes shot her way left Shelby pretty sure that Rachel hated the awkwardness as much as she did. Rachel was just… distant. All the usual tricks to coax her daughter back from a funky mood involved their mutual loves, or occasionally something new they could laugh through together, but now Shelby held back, afraid that she would only make it worse, or that she was just unwanted in general. The uncertainty was paralyzing, not to mention maddening.

She and Rachel had always been close. They shared more of their lives, physically and emotionally, than most people would consider normal. And they'd had their fights over the years, but that closeness had never been the source of the problem. For all Shelby's directness and anti-bullshit credos, she didn't know how to make this useless tension go away.

No, harassing her students through another run-through was a safer and more productive use of her frustration. All that time locked in her home office had given her plenty of time to choreograph some of Vocal Adrenaline's most complex routines ever. Normally, when they got to this point of perfecting a routine, there were smiles and satisfied smirks all around, but now her students mostly looked exhausted.

Well, if she was making them half as miserable as they'd made Rachel, she could live with it.

"Again."

* * *

><p>This couldn't be happening.<p>

It was bad enough that his mom was dating at all. (Finn had been super protective of anyone messing with their family ever since Darren the lawn guy dumped them, and so had his mom… up until now apparently, since she was already "in love" with this new guy. And he had to find out about it as the fixtures of his childhood were carried away.) But then she _really_ dropped a bomb on him, once they got around to the _who_.

As shocked as he'd been when she told him, knowing that it was Kurt's dad actually made him relax just a little. Not that he liked Burt Hummel so much – no offense to Kurt, 'cuz he was probably a stand up guy and all – but Finn was sure Kurt couldn't be any happier about this than he was. So maybe they could, like join forces to break up their parents. Two heads were better than one, right? It'd be like _The Parent Trap_, but in reverse.

So, after a long night of worrying, he made a frantic beeline for Kurt's locker before school the next morning. And he felt it, actually _felt_ it, as his last hope for a quick and easy fix to this mess went out the window.

Kurt _already knew_, and not only was he not freaked out about it, he actually seemed kind of… happy. Finn couldn't understand why. Their parents were _dating_… there was no part of this that wasn't a disaster waiting to happen, one way or another. And Kurt's first thought was to give Finn's mom a makeover and get a jumpstart on decorating their new house?

This was _not_ happening. No freakin' way.

He was still trying to wake himself up from this nightmare when glee rolled around. He barely heard Mr. Schue telling the team that he'd solved their rehearsal space problem (though Finn would have to check with someone later to make sure he'd heard right because… seriously? A _roller rink_?), but he did notice when Kurt went up to the front of the room and started singing.

He'd heard Kurt's solos all year, but it always surprised him. He just never expected _that_ voice to come out of another guy. And now he kinda wished he hadn't zoned out during the part where Kurt explained why he was singing this song, because it was getting pretty obvious that the dude was singing it _to_ Finn, and he couldn't be sure how freaked out he needed to be about that, especially since it sounded like a really sappy love song.

He looked over at Puck, hoping they could at least be weirded out together over the scary-intense look on Kurt's face, but his friend only mouthed "You're gay?" at him with mild curiosity. He was never going to hear the end of this. He shifted awkwardly in his seat and focused on the piano after that – pianos were safe, right?

But then looking at the piano got boring, so he tried actually listening to the song. People didn't usually just choose songs randomly in here, so maybe he could figure something out from the lyrics. He heard the part about chairs, and he looked at the sheet music in his lap again. And, okay, he got it.

He knew Kurt didn't mean to be creepy; he was just being Kurt, and one thing Finn had learned about the other dude this year (besides that he really would wear _anything_) is that he didn't do stuff halfway. Normally, Finn kind of admired that, unless it involved throwing all his… uniqueness… in everybody's faces. (Like, he _really_ wished Kurt hadn't tried to convince the dudes on the football team that wearing unitards under their uniforms would "both insulate the core and protect against chaffing," because Finn _still_ heard crap about it.) But even then, Finn knew he was just trying to help.

So maybe Kurt heard that his dad's chair was important to him, and he was trying to tell Finn – the way Kurt did everything (in song) – the same thing his mom had: _It's just a chair_. He tried to smile at Kurt, to tell him thanks anyways, but his face didn't really listen. Whatever. None of them got it.

For a split-second, he actually considered talking it all out with Quinn, but that was probably not the smartest idea. He was pretty sure she'd just freak out about how their reps would suffer if Kurt ended up his brother, and that was _so_ not a conversation he wanted to pretend to hear right now.

So he was on his own. What else was new?

* * *

><p>Rachel <em>really<em> regretted breaking down in front of Quinn like that.

It seemed to be the theme of the week that members of New Directions were coming forward one by one to size her up, looking to form opinions or to establish their own terms of co-existence. And while not all of those encounters could necessarily be deemed "friendly," Rachel did at least consider all of it progress.

She wasn't so idealistic as to expect Quinn (or any of the girls, really) to welcome her with open arms. If Rachel were in their position, she would not enjoy conceding any of her spotlight either, even if it was to a clearly superior vocalist. Trying to intimidate the competition was a natural response, one she was horribly familiar with after a year of Andrea Cohen. Her social standing, her looks, those were obvious targets, but she hadn't been prepared for Quinn to use Finn as a weapon.

More importantly, she was _definitely _not prepared for it to hurt like it did. She didn't realize his opinion mattered so much to her. He was the first person to offer her a helping hand at McKinley, and a fellow artist, a kindred spirit. They'd made a connection, and even if it stayed limited to duet performances, it was not to be taken lightly. It was pure musical chemistry, born out of some deeper, visceral connection unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Whatever happened as Regionals loomed closer and "The Plan" inched to completion, she liked to think that they were, for the moment, coming to understand each other.

The idea that Finn was merely impressed by her talent, that he would eventually grow bored (or worse) with her personality, felt a little too much like the vicious cycle she'd fought to escape with her peers at Carmel. McKinley was supposed to prove that loneliness wasn't her perpetual curse, that she and Vocal Adrenaline had just gotten off on the wrong foot, that it was her own self-deprecating neuroses keeping her from making real friends, from feeling happy and accepted.

And Finn, he made it look so easy to be liked, and be genuinely kind in return. Every single member of New Directions seemed to be on good terms with him (whatever the team's current drama), even as Finn worked to keep them together, making peace and building bridges. He was like Switzerland in that choir room. A tall, endearingly sincere Switzerland. And if she was the only person he couldn't stand, what did that say about her?

Rachel was so preoccupied (her route between classes now familiar) that she jumped when she noticed her path suddenly and deliberately blocked.

She instantly closed her eyes against the slushie attack… but when none came, she slowly peered upwards. A dizzying cloud of red hair loomed in front of her.

"Hel_lo_." This new boy was only a few inches taller than her, if she didn't count his hair, and his hands were, fortunately, empty of slushies.

"Can I help you?"

"You're the new girl, right? Rachel Berry?"

This time, delight at her notoriety lost out to curiosity. "I am…" She blinked in surprise when he reached to unclip a thin microphone from the sound recorder at his hip and held it under his chin to speak into it.

"As an introduction to the student body of McKinley, a forum on my blog has voted on some facts they would most like to know about you… First: on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your own promiscuity?"

She barely noticed when he angled the mic towards her, annoyed that her armful of books kept her from slapping him. "You're disgusting," she snapped. "And your blog must be full of unsophisticated trash if you would portray me as some kind of skank rather than report on my talent and record of excellence."

He grinned lecherously at her through thick-framed glasses, and she fought back a grimace. "So the kitty has claws…" And to her dismay, he _purred_ at her.

She sucked in a lungful of air and opened her mouth to tell him off in language she'd only ever heard her mom use under her breath, only to realize that Jacob's attention was no longer on her, but on the cheerleading uniform which had appeared at his side. His 'fro seemed to deflate slightly upon realizing it was the Cheerios' newest male constituent now glaring at him.

"Run along, Jacob," Kurt said coldly. "You're drooling."

There was an opportunistic gleam in Jacob's eyes as he re-directed his attention (and microphone). "Kurt Hummel… Can you confirm or deny the rumor that you requested a pair of red spankies with your Cheerios' uniform?"

Kurt's eyes narrowed imperceptibly, and he glanced down at the microphone before speaking. "My skin is too fair for anything less than all-natural fibers."

Jacob only sneered in response, and Rachel thought she could see him debating ways to twist that quote.

"Is it safe for you to be wandering around out here?" Kurt asked with obviously mock concern. "Karofsky's bound to lurch this way sooner or later."

"A feeble attempt at a distraction… but I've already had my daily dumpster toss."

"Garbage stains are the least of your concerns, Jacob. I overheard him telling the other muscle-heads that the elevation of your hair is officially obstructing their 'babe view' down the hallway. I'm sure they'll be along as soon as they find some clippers."

At that, Jacob's knees visibly shook. He gulped, dropping comically into a crouch, and scurried away.

"Just ignore him," Kurt advised her, nodding towards Jacob's retreating back with obvious disdain. "Jacob likes to think he's McKinley's very own Perez Hilton. Without the hair products."

"Thanks…" Rachel muttered, but he didn't appear to have heard her. One carefully manicured brow rose high on his forehead as his gaze traveled downward from her shoulders, and she realized that his close scrutiny was directed at her clothes.

To distract him, she changed the subject. "Your performance was lovely, by the way, and quite apropos with the show about to be revived." At that, his eyes snapped sharply up to meet hers. "Burt would have been proud."

"So your Broadway tastes aren't limited to Les Mis," Kurt mused with a knowing smirk. "Something tells me you spend a lot of golden afternoons singing Barbra Streisand ballads in front of the mirror."

Rachel glanced warily up at him, wondering if that was intended as a jab, but his expression was merely curious. "She's my idol," she finally admitted with a wide smile, "though I intend to leave my own distinct legacy on the stage."

After a long moment, his smirk became a sly, but real, grin. "Walk with me. Tell me: how familiar are you with _Gypsy_…?"

* * *

><p>Mercedes had only ever been to the nurse's office once before, and this time was no less humiliating, even factoring in the all-too-public cafeteria fainting that landed her here in the first place.<p>

It was beyond whack, but needing to visit this room was a sign of weakness at this school. If you lied to ditch class in here, it was cool; if you were hauled in after a fight or a crazy-vicious sports game, it was badass. But admitting to feeling pain, asking some strange adult to take care of you… it was something you just didn't do, if you had your life as together as everyone was supposed to. It was why anyone who ever expected to need them kept pain meds in their locker (even knowing that the nurse handed out free ones), and why you avoided being spotted in here regularly at all costs. Without a convincing cover, you became a whiner at best, or else a freak with a collection of diseases worthy of an episode of _House_.

So when Quinn Fabray marched proudly through that door and made a beeline for Mercedes' cot, the diva knew there was only one possible explanation.

So Mercedes did what she did best: strapped on her steeliest gaze and called the head Cheerio out. "Here to do Sue's dirty work?"

But, of course, Quinn didn't flinch. "Sue didn't send me."

It was so matter-of-fact that Mercedes didn't doubt it, but in the longer-than-normal pause that followed, it seemed that Quinn was hesitating, something she couldn't ever recall seeing before.

"Here," she said finally, almost awkwardly, as she unceremoniously dropped a granola bar into Mercedes' lap. "Eat it."

Mercedes reached to grab it before it rolled to the floor, the blood pressure cuff pulling against her arm, but she didn't try to open it.

Quinn let out an annoyed huff, but her voice was missing its usual bite when she spoke again. "Seriously. I didn't poison it, and I know why you fainted. Sue's called half the squad into her office this week for weigh-ins."

It was a comforting thought – at least Mercedes hadn't been the only "too big" Cheerio, though she was probably be the only one who couldn't manage to lose the weight without passing out – but she was more hung up on why Quinn would bother trying to comfort her at all.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked, disgusted to hear the self-pity in her own voice.

Quinn shrugged. "We're teammates, doubly so these days. We have more in common than you think."

Mercedes eyed the skinny blonde, giving her a look she could only hope told the other girl she wasn't buying it. "You're trying to tell me you know what I'm going through? When exactly did Miss Sylvester order you to drop ten pounds or else?"

Quinn rolled her eyes, clearly irritated at the turn this conversation was taking. "She told me to dump Finn."

Mercedes' inner gossipmonger took over, and she lowered her voice conspiratorially. "What? Why?"

"Because he's four months older than me," was Quinn's simple reply, though from her tone, it wasn't supposed to make sense. "It was Madonna week, right before you joined the squad. We were supposed to unleash our inner cougars and find younger boyfriends to boss around."

Mercedes' shocked frown turned dubious. "And you told her to go to hell?"

"Something like that." Quinn gave a smug smile. "Look, the truth is, Miss Sylvester is a bully. The girls that let her push them around are convinced they live or die by the squad. And really, who cares? They're sheep with or without the uniform."

Mercedes dropped her gaze, half-expecting to see thick wool sprouting from her skin. It would fit in with the rest of this cosmic-joke day.

"The Mercedes who's fought me and Santana tooth and nail for any bit of spotlight in glee this year is not that weak." There was an expectant challenge in Quinn's voice that made Mercedes look up. "You have to know when to stand up to her; make her see that the _squad_ needs _you_, not the other way around."

Mercedes, for once, couldn't think of anything to say, so she gave a firm nod, taking Quinn's hand to squeeze it gratefully.

Quinn squeezed back and let go, a trace of a smile on her face, before she turned her head, taking in the plain, cheerless décor of the office and the tacky "This is your brain on drugs" posters with a bored grimace. "In case it wasn't obvious, you're not proving anything by passing out at every practice. So do yourself a favor and _never_ come back here."

The head Cheerio marched back to the hall without another word, and Mercedes watched the crowd part to let her through.

So Quinn Fabray had a heart after all. Kurt owed Mercedes a manicure.

* * *

><p>Finn returned to the choir room, wiping water from his lips with a sleeve. "I think we might be the last ones here. Well, except for the janitors."<p>

"All the greats suffer for their art," Rachel replied, grinning at him from her seat on the piano bench. "Actually, not that vocal tutelage needs a special occasion, but I was wondering why you asked me to help you with your singing…"

He leaned comfortably against the piano. "Well, I figure I have a better shot at a scholarship for music than football. Not that that's saying much, the way our team plays. But to be totally honest… I may be the glee captain or whatever but I'm definitely not the best singer. I was a nervous wreck at Sectionals because I knew if we lost it'd be my fault, like because my solo wasn't good enough or something."

This she could fix. "It's never easy to be in the spotlight, Finn, even if you're entirely overconfident in your abilities. But don't doubt yourself. You're really very talented."

"Yeah?"

"Of course. I would know; I'm very talented, too."

He nodded, but didn't respond. This was the moment, she knew, when people beat a hasty retreat before she could explain why "very talented" was a grossly humble understatement, but she wanted this to be different. Spying the drum set on the other side of the choir room, she asked, "How long have you played percussion?"

"Oh, uhhh," he floundered, looking surprised at the change of topic, "since I was a kid. We didn't have money for lessons or anything but my mom's boss gave me their old set when his kids moved out, and I'd try to play along to the radio and stuff."

Her eyes widened. He was a constant surprise. "You were self-taught? That's very impressive."

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. It was just fun to play around with. And I was home by myself a lot. I guess I had to get better sometime."

"So, is that what you want to pursue?"

"Maybe. I, uh… I really don't know what I want to do, besides get out of Ohio. But I like music, and if it got me out of here, it'd be even more awesome."

"It's true that music can supplement virtually any successful career, and you're extremely talented, Finn. You shouldn't give up on it."

He looked genuinely surprised. "You really think so?"

"Of course" she answered matter-of-factly. "Anything that contributes to your happiness makes you a more successful person. I mean, why work hard for something if it doesn't make you happy, right?"

"Is that why you left Vocal Adrenaline?"

She was stunned at his candor, and jumped to their defense almost automatically. "Vocal Adrenaline are the reigning show choir champions. They're skilled beyond words, disciplined beyond measure…"

She glanced up at him, at his expectant expression, and knew he fully anticipated a "but." _Honesty_, she reminded herself. If she started weaving a tangled web of lies she'd go insane trying to keep track of it.

"…But they don't have fun," she finished, the admission feeling like nothing so much as a betrayal, though Finn seemed unimpressed by the gravity of it.

"But they were winning," he guessed, "so you didn't want to complain?"

"In part, yes. Don't get me wrong. Winning is important, and I was learning so much about production and technique, but… it was like an exclusive club I never really belonged to. They know they're the best, and they keep each other's company incessantly, but you'd be surprised all the power struggles that go on behind the scenes." She couldn't believe how much she was revealing, but when Finn smiled crookedly, nodding in conspiratorial understanding, it didn't feel like a mistake.

"Sometimes I think New Directions has that problem, too," he admitted. "I mean, I know everyone has to be here because they want to be or they wouldn't deal with all the…" he trailed off, waving towards the hallways in an encompassing sort of way, and she nodded to show that she understood. "Yeah, but it's still, like, a full-time job trying to keep up with who's not talking to each other."

She left the study of New Directions' interpersonal relationships for another time, when she hoped she'd have some observations of her own to contribute, and instead mentioned casually, "Several of our fellow glee-clubbers have approached me this week, actually."

His expression started towards a smile, but then seemed to detour to worry instead. "They weren't being mean, were they? They can be kind of…"

"No! They were just honest." Seeing that this didn't seem to comfort him in the least, she added, "I can already tell that Kurt and I will be very good friends. We both worship at the altar of the Great White Way."

His brow furrowed, and he seemed oddly troubled. "Didn't I see that on Shark Week?"

She had to fight down a giggle at his earnest confusion, but she couldn't have contained her smile if she tried. "It's a nickname for Broadway. Its appreciation is as much a rarity at McKinley as it was at Carmel, according to Kurt."

She definitely hadn't imagined it that time. He'd tensed a little at the mention of Kurt. Her sixth sense prickled.

"Is something going on with you and Kurt?" she asked directly, though carefully.

A muscle rippled along his jaw line, his hands jamming their way into his pockets almost reflexively as he stepped away from the piano. He stared at the floor as though he could burn a hole through it, and she felt her heart begin to race at the picture he made. This was serious.

"His dad is dating my mom," Finn muttered finally. "I just found out a couple days ago."

She squashed the tiny bloom of relief in her chest, letting her concern show. "And you're not happy about it?"

"No!" he nearly shouted, and his outburst stunned her into silence as he began to pace back and forth in front of the seats. "It's always been the just two of us, and everything was _fine_, and she had to go and change stuff and not even tell me until things were already… changing, and I –" He broke off, fuming.

Her heart was pounding; whether it was because of the sudden tension in the room or out of sympathy for his obvious pain, she couldn't say.

"We all went to dinner the other night, and Burt seems cool and I liked talking sports with him, but Kurt is already planning their wedding, and… I just don't _want_ a new family."

He dropped into the nearest front-row seat, restlessly bouncing his foot, and Rachel couldn't bring herself to interrupt, sensing he had more to get off his chest.

"Kurt doesn't even want to help me save my dad's _chair_! He died in Desert Storm when I was just a baby, and all I have of him is _stuff_. It's the best I'll ever get, and my mom wants to toss it all to the curb. How can she not get how messed up that is?" He looked back at her, and the fire in his eyes slowly dimmed, his tense muscles easing a little. An errant thought popped into her mind from nowhere; he was kind of gorgeous when he was all worked up like this. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you."

She had to swallow before she could answer, blinking back tears that had nearly spilled over as he spoke. She didn't want him to see her crying. It would bring out his chivalrous side, and for once she was certain that this conversation should _not_ be about her. "No, I – I understand why you're upset. With your mom moving on, it's up to you to keep your dad's memory alive. Feeling protective of him, of any part of him, is completely natural."

He stared at her, dumbfounded, and she wondered if she might have said something wrong. But then his shoulders relaxed a little, and he gave her a small-but-real smile.

"Yeah," he said, and his voice was a little thicker than she was used to. He sniffled. "Nobody else seems to get that. Or I didn't know how to say it to _make_ them get it."

"You will," she said immediately, certainly. "Tell them what you told me, and they'll _have_ to understand."

He smiled, and crossed the room to sit with her on the piano bench. She shifted pointlessly to make room for him and his considerable bulk, hyperaware of the almost nonexistent space that separated them from shoulder to knee, of how her entire right side seemed to warm at his proximity.

"Thanks for helping me with all this stuff," he said after a long moment.

"That's what friends for are," she answered automatically. And, though it was a terrible line, she thought it was maybe the first time she could say it was truly appropriate.

"Yeah, well my friends don't really get this stuff." He smiled. "You're cool, Rachel."

He placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. Her heart had begun to calm as they'd talked, as his rage quieted, but that simple touch set it off again, hammering so quickly she had to catch her breath. And it was only then she realized that he hadn't moved his hand.

She looked up into his gaze, lazily trained on hers, and she flushed so badly a shiver raced up her spine.

His eyes trailed over her face, and she involuntarily leaned closer. Or maybe he did – she honestly wasn't sure.

He visibly swallowed, hard, and she couldn't stand the tension one second longer.

"You know – "

A horrendously ugly sound split the air, and they both jumped. Finn's entire head snapped sideways, down at his elbow, still hovering guiltily over the piano keys.

He chuckled nervously, standing and moving around to the other side of the piano. "So what else you got?"

She smiled back shakily, but the moment was gone, and there was a sinking feeling of disappointment in her stomach, over the stirrings of that traitorous _something_ which had sent her body into overdrive when he'd touched her… and when he smiled… and…

_Oh no. _

* * *

><p><strong>Songs mentioned are "Like a Prayer" by Madonna and "A House is Not a Home" composed by Burt Bacharach. <strong>**The club's "chumminess" after performing "Like a Prayer" also comes directly out of the episode, with the slight change that Finn is the one spinning Rachel instead of Jesse. I never really got where all that excitement came from, but it works beautifully here.**

**Part 2 is complete and just going through my obsessive editing process. I'm really excited for you all to read it!**

**Review? **


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: This chapter was an absolute monster to get right, but I have to say that the finished product is probably my favorite so far, so I hope you guys enjoy it. It's also the longest, so run to the bathroom, grab a snack, and strap in for the ride!**

**Uber, extra, and crazy thanks to Mysti and Maddi (henceforth referred to as M&M. Hee hee), and to everyone reading, alerting, and especially to those of you reviewing.**

**Disclaimer: Not my show, not my songs, not my idea. (See prologue.) **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four (AKA "Home, Part 2")<strong>

_Oh no. _

She could've sworn he was about to kiss her; it was written all over his face.

And she really, _really_ wanted him to.

Not to help "The Plan," but because his nearness was making her dizzy and her excitement was building even faster than her nerves as the moment dragged on. But then it was over, and that was, unfortunately, that.

This was a complete and utter _disaster_.

When had Rachel Berry become such a cliché? She'd seen almost every romantic comedy in existence; she knew how these stories always ended. (And really, what girl wouldn't melt around the hot male leads in those movies?) Had she really been naïve enough to think it couldn't happen to her?

But she thought she could handle it. She had a very simple plan, after all. Just be what he needed and turn up the charm. She hadn't counted on wanting him too.

If this played out like a movie, she'd be head over heels in love with him by the end of the week – if she wasn't already, she thought miserably – but she'd stay in denial just long enough to break both of their hearts before this was over. And it wouldn't be until she transferred back to Vocal Adrenaline, with everything she'd ever wanted at her fingertips, that she'd realize it didn't make her happy anymore.

Invariably, because romantic comedies so rarely anticipated sequels and audiences crave a happy ending, it always worked out. The star-crossed lovers found a way to defeat the odds. The rivalry between schools or gangs could suddenly be put aside. They found common ground, or were somehow able to let go of a decades-old grudge turned livelihood after realizing it wasn't as crucial to their own identities as they'd always believed.

She could even cast Kurt as the hilariously flamboyant gay best friend.

But this wasn't a movie, was it?

Because a makeover and a heart-felt monologue (or even a soul-bearing song) couldn't change the fact that she'd lied to everyone at McKinley.

Because Kurt was Finn's friend first. And he wouldn't be siding with Rachel when the truth came out.

Because Finn said he trusted her, and he'd hate her if he thought she had been using that trust to hurt him.

Because if she succeeded in breaking his heart and Vocal Adrenaline crushed them at Regionals, glee would be over for him, and she would have ruined his future. No one could forgive that.

But this was ridiculous! She was panicking for nothing. Of course she was drawn to him; he was a strong, handsome male lead, not to mention the quarterback and Big Man on Campus. Half the girls at McKinley had probably liked him at some point. She truly was delusional if she assumed that he reciprocated even a fraction of her feelings. Never mind that her stomach did back flips every time she saw his eyes light up because he'd spotted her down the hall, or that she'd grown to treasure earning his crooked smiles like they were Tony Awards.

Though it hurt to admit, Quinn had nothing to worry about. Their musical chemistry was truly incredible and she could pine after him until she burst, but he'd never notice her romantically, not when his (perfectly cast) cheerleader girlfriend had an iron grip on his heart.

Rachel needed to get a hold of herself. If she let her emotions run wild, Finn Hudson would sweep her off her feet without even trying – _especially_ if he wasn't trying. Something told her these feelings wouldn't be so easily suppressed, but she had to do something. She'd just have to keep herself in check around him, limit her exposure if necessary.

The irony wasn't lost on her. She'd come here to catch his eye, and now she couldn't be sure who was seducing whom. It was pathetic, but she had to keep going. What else could she do?

* * *

><p>Quinn had it all figured out.<p>

Five-year plan? Ten year plan? She could have pre-written her autobiography before most kids could spell it.

Her older sister Abigail had gotten married the summer before Quinn's freshman year, and she couldn't remember a happier moment for her family. Her parents were practically bursting at the seams with pride (her dad had made a total of four toasts at the reception, while her mother just beamed tearfully), and her sister glowed with a kind of triumph amid friends and classmates who couldn't hope to be so lucky.

Abby and her husband had bought a house outside Chicago not long after that, so he could add another UPS store to his growing fleet. They still saw Abby's old friends at church, at the grocery store, and they asked about her, about her new life in the city, and Quinn saw their jealousy, their shame at being left behind.

Quinn would never become one of those girls. She would make it out, too. But to do that, she had to make a name for herself first.

She had high school wired from the second week of freshman year. She kept her grades as perfect as humanly possible. She didn't just make the cheerleading squad; she made that jaded, nationally-ranked coach sit up and look twice, established herself as a leader among those girls even before Sue made it official with her captaincy the next year. She packed her resume with extracurriculars that labeled her as opinionated and driven (and that made her parents happy).

And she kept an eye out for that guy, the one who would cement her reputation on top of this school, the one who would be her back-up, in more ways than one. Finn was more than she could have ever hoped for. He made starting quarterback before their sophomore year even began. He had the heart of a leader, even if he was sometimes confused about which direction he should be leading in. He was gorgeous, and he was sweet. He wanted out of here just as much as she did, and he was more than happy to let her plan the _how_ for both of them, every step of the way. She couldn't think of a better way to be sure they stayed on the same page.

And then it all went to hell.

First, glee happened. She never understood how he ended up at that first rehearsal, but it would become the first thing he refused to take her advice about, when she asked (demanded) that he quit before she couldn't fix the damage. He was determined to stay, to "express himself" or whatever he got out of it, and Quinn had to take drastic action. She couldn't pretend it wasn't happening – people were already talking after that freak show of an assembly – so she had to do _something_ to make it okay, to keep up their united front. So she joined, too, bringing Santana and Brittany as backup. (Fortunately, Sue Sylvester was able to see something in it for herself and didn't protest, or it would have all been for nothing.) Finn had been surprised, but pleased. And she thought things might just go back to normal, with the addition of a few rock ballads.

But then Finn started talking to Mr. Schue and meeting with Ms. Pillsbury and suddenly this glee-virus in his brain went viral. He campaigned to bring jocks into the club the way she planned to campaign for Prom Queen one day. He took the slushies and the gay-jokes in the locker room like he thought glee was worth it, somehow. He watched the bitching and diva fits in rehearsal with a tragic, hopeless sort of dedication.

And one day, Quinn realized he was planning his own future after high school. One that didn't include her.

It stung, but she hadn't worried. Glee clearly would not live past this year, and while she hated to lose at anything (even something that was little more than a surprisingly enjoyable but totally lame pastime), she would deal with it this one time, if it meant Finn would return to her, to their original plan, once it was over. Just a few more months of walking this narrow and dangerous line, and they would be back on track.

And then Rachel Berry happened. She was the wild card Quinn never saw coming.

She was a social deviant, but she might just be able to save New Directions from heinous public embarrassment at Regionals, might even help them to win. Unfortunately, Quinn hadn't had time to get rid of her before Finn realized the same thing.

So Quinn sat through that "Like a Prayer" rehearsal and listened to Rachel bitch for two miserable hours about unbalanced harmonies and missteps and holes in choreography, and "why hadn't they thought to establish a phone tree in case of emergencies_?_"(as if Quinn really wanted those contacts in her phone so people could assume she was interacting with them _socially_), and the star struck look on Finn's face made her want to vomit. No one could deny that the number was the most precise they'd ever been, and it _was_ fun (once Rachel shut up and they actually _did it_), but they hadn't won anything yet, so what exactly were they celebrating? And then Finn twirled Rachel around like some kind of hero, and Quinn was just done.

She could feel him drifting a little farther every day. He thought he didn't need her anymore, and he was going to throw everything away. And all because he liked singing?

Didn't he understand what she'd sacrificed to stay focused, to _be _as perfect as she appeared on paper? There were things and people she wished more than anything that she had room for in her life. Walking away hurt, sometimes kept her up at night wondering _what if_, but she knew there was a light at the end of this tunnel, and if denying herself these things now meant reaching the end with guaranteed, lifelong happiness, she could bide her time.

How much could she really be missing in _Lima_, anyway?

But she was afraid she was going to find out. They had been on exactly the right track, ready to walk the red carpet of (soon-to-be-official) high school royalty right out of this town and never look back. She couldn't let Finn give up their entire future for a _show choir title_.

She needed to give him a reality check and fast, but, truth be told, she was exhausted. Being on top of this school was exactly as satisfying and rewarding as she thought it would be, but making sure she stayed there was a lot of work. She was tired of pulling for both of them, of constantly reminding Finn what was at stake, of trying to convince herself that he wouldn't _really_ leave her.

She just missed him. It made her furious to admit that she relied on him for anything more than his status, but, God help her, she did love him. And she'd never felt as lonely as she had the last few weeks.

It was a rare, _real_ moment for her, reaching out to Mercedes, but she'd seen what girls had done to themselves to fit the Cheerio mold. Quinn had gotten too used to the pre-Cheerio Mercedes to be okay with watching Sue beat the diva out of her. With a social in and some fair warning, Mercedes would do fine on her own.

And, yes, maybe it had crossed her mind that she might get a friend out of it. Not a friend in appearances or out of pure necessity, not a "frenemy" (much as she hated the word), but someone she could trust, someone who wouldn't expect her to be perfect. Quinn had always believed she didn't need those kinds of relationships. They were like body pillows, there when you had nothing else to hold onto. She knew it would be lonely at the top, that most anyone would be plotting around or against her given the chance, but Mercedes was too direct for that. But just in case Quinn was wrong, she'd take it slow.

She wished she didn't have to keep everyone at arm's length, but then she wished a lot of things. It didn't change reality, and all that hoping and dreaming didn't make high school any easier. She could accept the reality and work with it, and that was the difference between her and people like Rachel Berry. Glee might be the best part of her day, but she knew better than to treat it like her salvation, just because she enjoyed it. It didn't mean anything in the real world.

Finn would realize that, sooner or later. Hopefully sooner, because Quinn didn't know how much longer she could hold it together before something deep inside cracked under this strain, something even she couldn't fix.

* * *

><p>Rehearsing at a roller rink was definitely different. They did actually rehearse… until Mr. Schue told them to "Take five" and they all ran to strap on skates. Twenty minutes later, Mr. Schue was chatting with April Rhodes at the bar, and they were all still sliding around the floor.<p>

Finn wouldn't actually say he was "skating" so much as slipping forward between falls, mostly trying not to look like some stick-legged bird with too many joints. It took Quinn a whole five minutes to get fed up with skating in tight circles to stay with his turtle's pace, and then she took off, racing Santana (who, even after complaining about the "lameness" of roller rinks, seemed to be having a great time). He'd lost count of how many times they'd lapped him since.

He'd just decided to take a break when he spotted Rachel sitting on one of the tall stools at a table off the floor, her feet dangling hilariously almost a foot in the air. He ignored the warning bells in his head and shuffled as smoothly as possible over to her, relieved when he could walk almost-normally on the carpet.

"Hey," he said, managing to grab hold of a stool at her table before his balance luck ran out.

"Hi." She glanced up from her drink in surprise. "Did you need something?"

"Just wanted a break. Okay if I sit here?"

"Yeah, of course, but… won't Quinn miss you?"

"I doubt it," he replied, shrugging as he scooted onto the stool. "Besides, I think I'm less of an embarrassment to her over here. I'm not exactly the most graceful guy ever."

She giggled at that. "I know. I saw you before."

"Yeah…" He cracked his fingers awkwardly in his lap and seized on the first thought that popped into his head before he could start perving on her hair again. "So why are _you_ over here?"

"O-Oh," she stammered and, weirdly, she turned bright red.

"What?"

She gave a great, heaving sigh. "Apparently I'm not the most proficient skater, either."

He had to laugh at the completely devastated look on her face.

"I don't understand it! I'm a trained dancer, I can balance my weight on my big toe, but I can't take two steps with wheels strapped to my feet. _Stop laughing_!" He could tell she was trying to sound stern, but she was smiling too.

"I'm sorry," he said, unable to wipe the grin off of his face. "I'm really not laughing at you falling. Really," he insisted, when she raised a doubtful eyebrow at him. "It's just funny to see you all bent out of shape over roller skating."

She puffed up, and he couldn't decide if it was actually scary or just adorably pathetic. "I am _not_ –"

But, just then, a shriek from the floor caught both of their attentions, and he turned his head to see Tina in the middle of a pretty spectacular banana peel. Before he could even think to go check on her, she was already scrambling carefully to her feet… and right into Mercedes, who had come over to help her up.

* * *

><p>Rachel twisted around just as Tina gave another high-pitched cry and half-pulled Mercedes to the floor with her. When Artie wheeled over to the giggling pair, offering his chair handles as sturdier supports, Rachel looked across the rink at Mr. Schue. He was still wrapped up in his own conversation at the bar, apparently not in any particular rush to get them back to rehearsal.<p>

Smiling wryly, she turned back to Finn, all thoughts of limiting her exposure tossed aside. "So, do you get kicked out of your auditorium often?"

"What? Oh," he gave a humorless laugh, "no, that's just the cheer coach, Sue Sylvester. She, uhh, kinda has it out for glee."

Rachel frowned. "The woman who wears all the track suits?"

"That's her."

"I walked in on her giving that Jacob kid a swirly in the girl's bathroom the other day. What does she have against New Directions?"

He shrugged. "Well, glee's over for good if we don't place at Regionals. She probably thinks the club's budget will go to the Cheerios."

A painful twinge erupted in her stomach. "Over as in… _forever_?"

"Yeah. It sucks we have to go up against the national champs so early." He smiled sadly. "But hey, luck dropped their MVP in our laps…"

She held back an audible gulp.

"I've just been hoping we'd find a way to not embarrass ourselves, but now? I actually think we might have a shot at winning this thing."

She tried to return his smile, but when he looked at her curiously, she was sure the end result was more of a grimace. (She could hardly focus on keeping her face neutral when the nightmarish image of herself, gleefully trampling Finn's dreams under her tap shoes, ricocheted around her head.) Rather than try to explain her apparent insanity, she reached for her water and took a liberal gulp, hoping the chill would take some of the heat from her flushed cheeks.

"You ok? You look a little freaked."

She slowly lowered her fountain cup to the table. "Yeah, I just… it's hard to imagine competing _against_ Vocal Adrenaline."

He nodded grimly. "Is it true they hole up in one of those energizing sweat boxes for a straight week before competitions?"

The noise that escaped her throat was something between a squeak and a gasp. How did a rumor like that even get started? "We weren't _that_ fanatical! Besides, they don't really work."

He crossed his arms, leaning forward to prop his elbows on the table with interest. "Okay. Well, what about Dakota Stanley? You'd have to be pretty extreme to put up with that guy every week. We were all ready to quit or kill the dude after two minutes with him."

"He is rather repulsive," she agreed easily. "But he's actually a brilliant choreographer, and he gets results. It got a lot easier to not take his colorful language personally after my mom made him stop singling us out to suggest cosmetic alterations."

"I don't get that. What could he possibly tell you to fix?"

His tone was so matter-of-factly incredulous, so lightly serious, that she didn't think he had any idea what he'd said, or that her chest suddenly felt tighter, forcing a rush of heat up into her cheeks. He liked the way she looked?

She was mortified to realize that she was _blushing_, and pinched her arm ferociously under the table to snap out of it. "My uh – he told me to get a nose job. I imagine I'll hear it several more times before my career is established. It is unfortunately a common attitude in the biz that Jewish girls have to get nose jobs to be cast as leads, but if Barbra Streisand refused and still succeeded then so can I."

And now she was babbling. Perfect. She'd never liked the expression "word vomit," but in this particular moment… it felt undeniably accurate. She bit her lip and glanced at him, sure he was looking for the nearest exit, but saw only his warm smile.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, he told me I was freakishly tall. Puck still calls me Frankenteen to mess with me."

She smiled back, relaxing a little. "He has a pet peeve about perceived uniformity. All choirs wear costumes, but he would've had us all wear matching his and hers wigs if he got his way. I was the shortest, and he wanted me to dance in platform heels to be in line with everyone else."

Finn shook his head without breaking her gaze. "Dude is completely unhinged. But, for what it's worth, I like your nose. I haven't known you all that long, but I can't really imagine you without it, either."

Butterflies took flight in her stomach, and no amount of arm-pinching startled them away. She was officially a walking cliché, and the idea would make her very uncomfortable if it didn't feel so _good_. "Thank you," she muttered finally, knowing it didn't adequately express her gratitude in the least. Was he flirting with her? She was pretty sure no one but a blood relative had ever complimented her nose before.

He must have sensed her discomfort, because he smiled sheepishly and dropped his gaze to the table. When he looked up again, his features had morphed into innocent curiosity. "So… who's Barbra Streisand?"

Butterflies forgotten, she stared incredulously at him. "You – but, Barbra…" She took a deep breath and tried again. "She's an international female icon, one of the biggest performers, of any genre, _ever_. She came from humble beginnings, but her star power could not be denied for very long. It all started back in –"

"Alright, New Directions, listen up! April's closing early so everybody return your skates and let's clear out!"

Defeated, she glanced at Mr. Schue, now replacing the mic on the bandstand, and at the rest of the team, skating over to their things with varying levels of grace, then finally back at Finn, who grinned with something she hoped wasn't actually relief. "This is _not_ over," she promised him sharply.

"Hope not," was his simple reply, and for once, she really hoped he wasn't referring to Barbra Streisand.

* * *

><p>Finn's day had actually been going pretty well. He realized he hadn't been slushied in at least a few days. (It might be a record, but he wasn't exactly keeping track.)<p>

Plus, he and Kurt had a good talk about their parents. The words finally came so Finn could explain about bring protective of his dad's memory, and the other dude actually seemed to get where he was coming from. (Turned out Kurt now had his own reasons for wanting to break them up.)

Finn was in a good enough mood that he actually didn't fall asleep for once when Quinn made him come to the Cheerios' pep rally. Mercedes performed, so it kind of turned into a glee thing, and he was really, really glad to see them all supporting her. Plus, it was probably the only time the glee club had ever gotten together in front of the rest of the school without being attacked. He almost felt like skipping.

But then he got home.

And he hoped Kurt was better at talking Burt out of stuff than he was with his mom because she totally called his bluff about his dad's ashes in, like, two seconds. And then she made him feel crappy again for wanting her all to himself, and eventually left on a date with Burt.

He'd been sulking – he could admit it – ever since. This was how it was going to be now? She decided what was best for both of them and just hoped he'd catch up eventually? That's not how it was supposed to be. She'd _always_ asked for his opinion, even if it was which jean jacket looked best with her favorite boots. He wanted her to be happy – she deserved it – but he couldn't help it if he didn't like the thing that seemed to be making her happy.

He'd been more relieved than he'd like to admit when, out of the blue, Rachel texted him, reminding him to practice the vocal exercises she showed him because "practice makes perfect." She'd signed it with a happy face, and bizarrely, it actually made him smile.

_Hard 2 do w/o a piano & I wudn't no if I sound ok._

She replied almost immediately. _I'd be happy to assist. We'll have to arrange your next vocal lesson as soon as our schedules allow._ Another smiley face.

He glanced up to check the time. It wasn't even six.

_Want 2 meet skool now? I no how 2 get n._

It took her way longer to respond than it had before, but she finally sent a simple _OK_, and a second text two seconds later added that she'd be there in "approximately thirty minutes."

He'd forgotten that she'd live kind of far if she'd been going to Carmel, and he almost texted her again because he felt bad for making her drive all that way, but she'd already agreed to come, so there was no un-awkward way to take it back. Besides, he knew she wouldn't let him just sit and stew once they got working, and if she could cheer him up even a little bit it'd be awesome.

He met Rachel in the school parking lot, chuckling in spite of his mood at the sight of her little shiny Prius (he wondered randomly if he'd ever seen another yellow one before, though it did match her skirt) parked next to his old blue truck.

She walked towards him with a smile and a nervous wave. The "nervous" part was explained when she asked frantically if any of what they were about to do could legally be termed "breaking and entering."

He smirked at her hush-hush tone and shook his head. He'd forgotten important stuff at school enough times to know which doors the janitors always propped open while they worked. "We were here later than this the other night," he pointed out.

"Right, of course." She didn't say another word, but double-timed her legs to keep up with him.

He led her around to the door near the back dumpsters, stepping over the pile of stuffed hefty bags which were keeping the door from closing, before turning back around, reaching to grasp both her arms above the elbow as she hopped sideways over the mess.

Giving her a hand was automatic, but it turned out to be a good idea since her feet slid out from under her as she landed. Her fingers cinched into his sleeves and he tightened his grip on her arms, hauling her up and spinning a little to keep them both upright.

It took a couple deep breaths – just enough for him to wonder if there was any way to guess how much she weighed without getting bitch-slapped because he was pretty sure he was holding her, like, _in the air_ right now – but then she put her feet back down and stood straight. "Thanks," she squeaked, her eyes almost cartoonishly wide with lingering surprise. She uncurled her hands from his sleeves and smoothed out her sweater, breaking his gaze to look down.

"_Eww_," she said with feeling.

"What?" He followed her eyeline and saw a big brownish puddle on the floor with two Rachel-sized foot smears through it, probably leaking from one of the trash bags.

"Oh, yeah. Eww," he agreed. He'd just noticed the smell.

Lifting her feet one at a time, she inspected the brown splatters on her shoes disgustedly. Finally, she sighed, looking back up at him with an expression of complete distaste all over her face. "It can't be worse to scrub out than slushie, right?" she asked hopefully.

A random thought distracted him, and he didn't answer right away. Her face was just so… _open_, everything she was thinking and feeling right there for him to see. Worried, determined, excited, scared, disgusted, all in the last two minutes. He could spend hours just watching it like a movie, except that it'd be beyond creepy.

"Right." He cleared his throat. "Let's get to the choir room."

It was the same exercises they'd worked on before, but everything was _more_ now. More notes in the scales, more music between breaths, more high notes he had to reach for, and they worked on all of them for longer too.

He thought he'd been doing pretty well, until Rachel suddenly slammed the lid closed over the piano keys with what he could only call a _growl_. "This is not working!"

"Do I sound that bad?" He grimaced apologetically.

Her frown immediately softened. "Not you. Sorry. I meant the choir room."

He looked around: chairs, walls, drum set. How was the room broken?

Like she'd read his mind, she answered, "Soundproofing panels glued to the walls hardly makes for ideal acoustics. The sound quality is all but irrelevant when the whole team is layering voice on top of voice on top of instrumentation for mere preliminary run-throughs, but when we're trying to _train your ear_… it's everything."

Wow. He hadn't heard her talk that fast since her first speech to the club. "Uhh… so you want to go somewhere else?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes, actually, I do." She gave a firm nod and stood up. "We're going to reclaim the auditorium."

Every childhood spy fantasy he'd ever had instantly popped into his head. And Rachel would totally make a better partner-in-crime than Puck ever had. She could crawl through vents!

"Finn!" Rachel hissed at him from the door, motioning for him to follow.

He grinned and trotted after her, catching up before she even turned the corner. "Should we try to grab a power saw or something from woodshop?" he asked as they got closer. "The Cheerios' padlocks are holding some pretty heavy chains on the doors."

Rachel shook her head, eyes focused straight down the hall as she replied. "Bursting through the front doors would be an appropriately bold territorial display, but we know we'll at least get full use of the auditorium back on Monday. Further angering that cheerleading coach might provoke unnecessary retaliation on the club and cause further setbacks. There has to be another entrance backstage."

She was right. They went past the main doors and turned the corner, circling the auditorium from the outside, and they even had to go all the way outdoors to a kind of loading dock, and there it was. This one wasn't padlocked, but they didn't have a key, either.

"Don't you have a hairpin or something to pick it?" he asked Rachel.

"My hair is down," she pointed out, running a hand through it for emphasis. "I don't usually keep those on me."

"Oh, yeah. It's pretty," he added, without thinking.

It was kind of hard to tell in the near-sunset dark, but he thought she was blushing. "Thanks."

"What if I kicked it down?"

From the knowing grin on her face, he guessed he sounded a little _too_ excited about that option.

"It's not worth you injuring yourself over. What if you broke your foot and fell even further behind in dance rehearsals?"

Oh yeah. Finn thought a broken foot might actually be more of a problem for basketball, but mentioning that to Rachel probably wouldn't go over well. Riling her up was surprisingly hilarious, but Mr. Schue wasn't around to interrupt if that set her off onto another Barbra Streisand level rant again.

"Hang on!" Finn reached for his wallet and dug out his driver's license, moving right up to the handle so he could wedge the card into the door crack above the bolt. He angled it downward and pushed, and he was more surprised than anyone when the door popped towards him with a dull crunch. _That actually works?_

"You did it," Rachel said, sounding a little awestruck.

Knowing she was impressed, he tried to play it cool. "Yeah, well, Puck and I got into a lot of stuff we probably shouldn't have when we were kids. Come on." He pulled the door wide open to let her go first, then let it slam behind him.

It was really, really dark inside, and Rachel reached back to hold his wrist, leading him as though she could see where she was going any better than he could. But he wasn't complaining. Watching her on a mission, totally taking charge, was way too much fun to think about trying to take the reins.

He almost crashed into her as she stopped suddenly, so he only pitched forward rather than taking them both to the floor. Stupid feet. He should at least have decent traction with those flippers on his ankles. Playing it cool almost lasted a whole thirty seconds that time, too.

He only noticed that Rachel had walked away when his wrist was suddenly cold. "Rachel," he called out, barely above a whisper. It just hit him how creepy it was in here. He reached out, trying to feel where she'd gone, but he didn't dare move. Even with his eyes adjusting, he couldn't see a damn thing. Just gloom and shadows and – whoa. Rachel must've hit the lights.

Once his eyes cleared, he realized he was standing in the wings, just off stage left – or was it right? Everything looked exactly the same; even the piano was still sitting out. If the Cheerios had been there at all that week, he couldn't tell. He wasn't sure how that could be, but he was glad. He stepped out onto the stage, walking slowly towards the edge.

It was weird to stand there and realize that he'd kind of missed this place. The choir room was glee-central in a lot of ways, but the auditorium was kind of where it all started for him. His first rehearsal had been in here, and performing on this stage was where he finally got it, where he understood that moving and breathing and _making_ music, filling this giant-ass room with it, made him feel powerful. He felt that way when he played football, too, but this was different. Performing was way more personal, even scary sometimes, as weird as it sounded.

It made him feel things, and they weren't always happy feelings, but he did always feel better afterwards. He knew he could work out anger and stuff like that on a punching bag and it would get the job done, but for other stuff… like worry or sadness or loneliness… he couldn't punch those out of his system (though he'd tried). It made sense to talk them out, but to do that he'd need the right words and someone willing to listen who wouldn't give him shit about it – and Finn didn't seem to have a lot of luck with either.

Performing took care of both those problems. He didn't really need an audience – sometimes it was easier without one – and he didn't need to find the right words because he could use someone else's.

This stage had seen a lot of that.

Realizing how quiet it was, he turned around to look for Rachel, but she was right there, legs dangling off the long end of the piano bench, watching him. In a word, her smile was almost… shy, but that couldn't be right because her eyes were anything but. They bored straight through him.

"What?" he asked, wondering what _that_ expression meant. It was freaking him out a little.

"You just look very comfortable up here," she remarked.

"Yeah, I guess." He still didn't know what she was getting at. "I like it here. I mean, I don't have to deal with stuff… but it also kinda _makes_ me deal with other stuff, and I know that doesn't sound good but it actually helps and… well, yeah. It's probably stupid."

Her whatever-it-meant look just got more intense as she shook her head. "It's your home away from home. That's not stupid. At least, I've always felt that way."

Well, okay, maybe she did get it.

He needed to sit down, so he crossed the stage to climb over the bench next to her, and she swung her legs the other way, sitting backwards and kind of facing him, but next to him.

"How do you _do_ that?" he asked, watching her closely.

"Do what?"

"You just… you somehow know what I'm feeling before I do, like about my dad before, and now…" He swung an arm carelessly towards the room.

She bit her lip, something he noticed she only did when she was nervous or embarrassed, and shrugged with an almost helpless shake of her head.

It sounded crazy, he knew. Rachel couldn't have known that he'd been dying to break back in here to work out all this confusion over his family drama. (He wasn't sure anyone else had ever bothered to write a song about suddenly too-big families, so he hoped one about change in general would do the trick.) But she'd gotten him back in here all the same.

She wasn't looking at him. She'd dropped her gaze to her lap, still worrying her bottom lip. He could see how hard her hands were gripping the bench, but he couldn't tell what she was thinking if he couldn't see her face.

He lifted a hand to cup her cheek, gently turning her head to face him, and her bottom lip fell open and _holy crap_ her skin was warm. She didn't turn away, but he could feel her trembling under his palm. He thought he could hear her breathing get heavier, but when a steady pounding only sort of drowned it out, he realized it was all him; it was _his_ breathing, _his_ heart beating out of control, and he hoped that was a good thing.

He never actually _decided_ to, but he leaned towards her, dipping his head to just brush his lips softly against hers. Her breathing hitched, and he glanced at her wide-eyed gaze for just a second before going back in. He captured her top lip in his, felt hers pucker almost tentatively around his bottom one, and he swore his whole body _sighed_. Like, everything lifted and tightened, and then relaxed, spreading warmth down to his toes.

He pulled back, dragging his eyes open. She was watching him in something like surprised wonder, a blush spreading over her cheeks. He totally got why because _seriously? What _was_ that?_

He didn't know who moved first, but suddenly they were kissing again, her mouth opening under his as he kissed her more firmly. His body didn't sigh a second time; it was ready for her. But he felt that warmth, hotter and more intense than before as she gripped his shoulders and sat up a little to bring herself closer. His other hand slid over her torso to her waist, pulling her into his side even as he steadied her. His lungs burned, but he _so_ didn't care. He felt wobbly, like _inside_, kind of like when he ran wind sprints with the sun beating down on him, only that made him really fucking tired and this… egged him on. Every brush of her crazy-soft lips, every inch her fingers climbed over his shoulders triggered another intense surge of energy bubbling through his skin. He didn't know it was possible to feel this much.

He could feel _things_ reacting, too, and somewhere in his brain he found room to be glad their bizarre seating meant she wasn't close enough to feel it, or this was going to end drastically, one way or another.

Without warning, she pulled away so fast he nearly fell forwards, and his eyes flew open. She stared at him, two shaky fingers over her lips, her eyes wider than he'd ever seen them. She looked _terrified_.

"I-I have to go," she murmured, and he heard the tears in her voice before he saw them in her eyes.

She was running, disappearing into the gloom backstage, before he could blink the haze away.

* * *

><p>Shelby had shown up to Vocal Adrenaline's rehearsal armed with a brand new routine that afternoon, determined to keep them at it until it was competition-ready, but luck was not on her side today. Just three hours into rehearsal, one of her students nearly dropped his dance partner in a lift, and the pair toppled into the rest of the line like human dominos. Even though she suspected more than a few of them had exaggerated their injuries, she reluctantly ended rehearsal early with a warning not to expect any reprieves from tomorrow's dancing boot camp with Dakota Stanley.<p>

She knew something was off the moment she arrived home to a quiet, seemingly empty house. This early, Shelby half-expected to find Rachel blasting one of her playlists from the kitchen speakers, but the girl was nowhere to be seen or heard, despite the fact that the loafers Rachel had been wearing that morning were next to the front door.

Shelby was halfway up the stairs when she heard the music. She almost turned back, assuming Rachel was rehearsing in front of her mirror, as she often did, but stopped when she realized it wasn't her daughter's clear vocals carrying down the hall, but a male voice crooning a familiar slow melody. It was muffled – Rachel's door must've been closed – but Shelby's curiosity was piqued, so she climbed the rest of the stairs and crossed the hall to Rachel's room, edging the door open.

The music instantly grew louder, though it was still well below Rachel's usual volume, and Shelby felt as though she had stepped into a time machine at the sight in front of her. Rachel was curled up under her magenta comforter, a stuffed animal Shelby hadn't seen in years tucked under one arm. Her eyes were closed, face half-buried in her pillow, but she had obviously been crying, and for quite a while judging by the darkened, tear-stained fabric under her cheek.

"Rachel?" she called softly, thinking she might be asleep, but Rachel lifted her head at the sound, turning towards the open doorway.

"Mom?" Her voice registered a little surprise, and she sat up. At the sight of her daughter's puffy, watery face, Shelby went over to the bed – tension be damned – and perched on the edge. "Why are you home?"

"I ended rehearsal early," she replied, reaching to smooth Rachel's tears away with her thumb. "What's wrong, honey?"

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked, but there was an odd ring to it – she was stalling.

Shelby fixed her with a sardonic look. "I know what wallowing looks like. Granted, I've never seen it on _you_, but the signs are universal. What happened?"

Rachel shook her head silently, and Shelby couldn't be sure if that was supposed to mean that nothing had happened or if Rachel was refusing to answer. She tapped the side of Rachel's thigh, and the girl slid over so her mom could climb in next to her. Shelby pulled the comforter over them both and sat against the headboard, feeling Rachel's head fall on her shoulder.

There was a complete silence for a moment as the music died off, only to begin again, and Shelby smirked in spite of herself when she finally registered which song was playing on repeat. Rachel most definitely had Celine Dion's cover on her iPod, but the music was coming from the bedazzled pink boombox in the corner (which Rachel hadn't used since she'd insisted it could no longer keep up with her increasingly diverse musical needs at age eight), and Shelby would bet anything she'd find her old Eric Carmen CD spinning in the disc tray.

The whole scene was just a little too familiar for Shelby's comfort, though Rachel had no way of knowing that her mother had cried away many a heartache exactly like this.

"Who is he?" Shelby asked gently, and felt Rachel stiffen slightly before letting out an overdramatic sigh.

"A guy in glee. We sang a duet together."

Shelby nodded pensively. "Is he cute?"

Surprised at the question, Rachel choked on a giggle, nodding. "He's _adorable_. And kind and funny and maybe the most graceless dancer ever and…"

Shelby smiled as Rachel gushed, the affection in her voice more telling than anything. "Then what's the problem?"

"We'd never work out." She could hear that Rachel's frown was back in place. "Maybe if things were different, but… Well, he has a girlfriend for starters."

Shelby's inner feminist wanted to give Rachel a rousing speech about not letting any guy determine her happiness, but she knew her daughter. Whatever she was feeling, she wouldn't calm down until she made a production out of working through it. By the looks of things, she was way ahead of her. Instead, she asked, "So what about him? Does he like you?"

Rachel seemed to consider this for a while, and Shelby could almost feel her mentally cataloging every interaction and conversation for an answer. Finally, sounding sadder than ever, she said, "I think maybe he does."

"Then let him figure it out. I'm sure if he wants to be with you, you'll be the first to know."

"I hate waiting."

Shelby had to chuckle at that. "I know, but you can't force him to choose you. It'll only cause more problems if you try."

She felt Rachel take several deep breaths in what Shelby hoped was calming resignation, but when Rachel spoke, her voice was thick with fresh tears. "He won't choose me."

Before she could ask what made her so sure, Rachel twisted to bury her face against Shelby's collarbone, her small frame shaking with quiet sobs and trembling breaths. So Shelby just gathered Rachel into her arms, rubbing soothing circles into her back. The familiarity of holding her like that brought on a rush of memories, like a montage of moments on fast forward: relaxed movie nights and lazy holidays and even hysterical mourning after the occasional failed audition for community theater.

The memory of why this closeness had been missing lately surfaced, and she felt that tension, all but forgotten the moment she had seen Rachel crying, creep back in. The girl's tears had subsided, and Shelby swallowed, moving to free her limbs. Rachel must have felt her shift, and looked uncertainly up at her.

"I didn't mean to crowd you," Shelby said, answering the unspoken question.

"You're not crowding me."

Shelby paused to look back at her, one leg off the bed. "But, I thought – you've been avoiding me."

"Because I thought you were mad at me."

"No… I was trying to give you your space… some separation, like you said you wanted."

Rachel flinched, but her voice was steady as she shook her head. "I _never_ wanted us to stop talking."

The worry was plain on Rachel's face, and Shelby pulled her into a hug with both arms, smiling over her shoulder. "Oh, honey, I'm _so_ relieved you feel that way."

Shelby fully expected Rachel to start chattering immediately, as if she could catch up on a week's worth of missed conversation if only she talked quickly enough, but Rachel stayed quiet, her chin hooked over Shelby's shoulder, seemingly content. The continued silence unnerved her, and Shelby knew everything wasn't okay yet. Still, the tight, almost desperate grip Rachel had around her neck told her that _they_, at least, could begin to put this behind them.

She held her daughter long after her leg started to fall asleep under her, but she wouldn't have budged for the world. It wasn't until Rachel's stomach began gurgling that the moment was broken.

"You gonna be ok long enough for me to throw together some dinner?" Shelby asked, wiping a nearly-dry tear track away with her thumb.

"Yeah, I'm good." Rachel still seemed a little bluer than Shelby liked, but at least she was trying. She pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead and got up, moving into the hall. "Mom?" Rachel called in her little-girl voice, "Thanks."

Shelby stopped, and poked her head back into the room with a smile. "That's what I'm here for. Oh, and Rachel? I want my CD back."

* * *

><p>Finn drove to Puck's as fast as he dared. He kept one eye out for civil servants (kind of a traumatic habit), but the longer he stayed in this car, the more his thoughts threatened to run him off the road.<p>

He'd kissed Rachel Berry.

It had taken the entire ten-minute drive back to his house to get her fruity smell out of his head, and a couple minutes after _that_ to realize that he had _majorly_ fucked up.

He was with Quinn. No question. But he was having a surprisingly hard time remembering _why_.

Really knowing Quinn, who she was under the uniform and the attitude, was like being in on a huge secret. It was fun – like, secret agent fun; it made him feel special, like she chose _him_ to be in on it. And he'd never felt closer to anyone than in those moments when she completely relaxed around him. But he could count on one hand the number of times that had happened – like, _ever_ – and it'd been a few months since the last one.

Actually, she'd been even moodier than usual lately. And it was really _not_ fun when she took stuff out on him. But he was pretty sure she still wanted to be with him, and that had to count for something.

But he'd _kissed_ Rachel Berry.

Was it weird that it wasn't weird? Because it'd seemed like the most natural thing in the world. And half of him wanted to do a happy dance because it was _awesome_, and the other half wanted to beat up that first half because just… no.

It shouldn't be this hard. He had a girlfriend. Cheating was bad. Right?

He'd figured out, after about fifteen minutes of trying, that he _could_ actually play all his video games in single-controller mode in his sleep (or in a thought-coma). On any other day that'd make him feel like a boss, but it was a _really _crappy distraction right then.

For a split second, he considered trying to do homework, and that was when he decided enough was enough. He was back in his truck two minutes later, hoping to God Puck wanted to do something stupid.

Because he'd kissed _Rachel Berry_.

Tiny Rachel Berry with her big voice and bigger dreams (like, bigger than Ohio big). He'd been scared and intimidated and in awe of her since day one. And he'd felt all of that when he kissed her, felt everything through her warm skin under his hands and her fingers clutching at his shoulders and her ridiculously soft lips.

Was her whole body that soft? The thought sent a shudder straight through him, and he stepped on the gas as he turned onto Puck's street. He _really_ needed to stop thinking about this.

His mouth had gone dry, and he swallowed hard, licking his lips. They still tasted like Rachel's fruity lip balm.

He threw himself out of his truck as soon as it was parked and nearly sprinted to the front door. He needed… something, _anything_ before his head exploded. It opened (he'd never known it to be locked), and he marched automatically to the living room, stopping dead in his tracks.

He was literally seeing red, but maybe that was just her Cheerio's uniform.

"_Finn_?"

He couldn't move.

He _refused_ to move until he figured out how his eyes weren't really seeing what he thought they were seeing. That _wasn't_ Quinn on his best friend's couch, and she _wasn't_ pulling angrily at her crooked uniform like it would just snap back where it belonged, and that _wasn't_ Puck with his hand on her thigh, scrambling to sit up even though Quinn was on top of him.

_What the hell?_

Puck finally got to his feet, walking towards Finn with an about-to-say-something look, and it felt like he'd just been slapped when he realized the dude was shirtless.

He felt something in him _snap_, but he didn't realize he'd even thrown a punch 'til Puck stumbled backwards. He started after him – he wanted to keep hitting him until his arm fell off – but Quinn got in his face first.

"_Stop it_!" she yelled, pushing at his chest with both hands. He barely felt it, but the sight of her had him on his heels in a heartbeat. She looked a mess. Her hair was out of its ponytail and clumped into tangles, her skin flushed, and the top of her uniform still wasn't completely straight.

Puck stood up, glaring defiantly at Finn over Quinn's shoulder, his whole body coiled and his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides like he couldn't wait to return the favor.

Finn looked between the two of them, sure someone was going to yell '_Kidding_!' any second, but they wore almost matching unapologetic expressions. "You…" He felt cold, his jaw stiff. It was right in front of his face, and he couldn't make himself say the words.

Quinn was shaking her head furiously. "Don't even try that. This is all _your_ fault. You ruined everything!"

"What?"

"Oh, don't play dumb, Finn. It's redundant." She sounded weird, _extra_ loud and kind of hoarse, but he put it together when he saw the wine coolers on the table, just one full bottle left in the case. (He'd been to enough Cheerios' victory parties to know how Quinn got when she was drunk, or even just buzzed, and it made her normal bitch fits look like warm summer breezes.)

He was shaking, and he didn't know whether he was about to cry or kick something but he knew he couldn't stay frozen like this. He stepped even further away from her, from both of them, his vision going blurry, but he managed to gasp out the one coherent thought he had. "How could you do this to me?"

He hadn't only been asking Quinn, but he wasn't surprised when it was her voice that answered him, sounding drawn out and clipped in weird places, but almost normal. "Funny. I've been meaning to ask you the same thing."

He looked at her, saw the tears forming in her eyes, the firm set of her chin, and he didn't know what the hell she was talking about, but he didn't care anymore. He'd walked in on her fooling around with his best friend, and now she was crying like _he'd _hurt _her_? Screw that.

But even as he thought it, felt the rage building again, there was a whine of protest from some dark corner somewhere, from the part of him that hated seeing her cry. And then, weirdly, it was Quinn's voice he heard from some distant memory, calling him a pathetic sap.

He knocked over a lamp and left the front door open in the rush to his truck, but he never looked back.

It was Puck's mess now.

* * *

><p>For once, Rachel was glad the spotlight was not on her.<p>

Mr. Schue's diminutive blonde friend was center stage, belting the closing number from _The Wiz_ with truly impressive range and sincerity, while Rachel was mindlessly harmonizing in the background, just one of the chorus today.

She never considered fighting it. The club was celebrating their return home. And, hey, April Rhodes did buy the auditorium for them. But even if that weren't true, Rachel wasn't feeling quite celebratory enough to do this song justice at the moment.

She'd looked for Finn all day without success. She had no idea what she could say to explain herself or her abrupt exit last night, but she just wanted to see him, even knowing she was only chasing heartache by hoping he'd somehow understand. It seemed irrational that he would skip school entirely just to avoid her – it turned out that the only class they shared (besides glee) was Spanish – but he hadn't even shown up to hear the good news about the auditorium.

The room felt incomplete without him, as jarring as a missing wall or a hole in the floor. It shouldn't surprise her, how much she'd come to rely on him since her transfer, but the depth to which she missed him scared her a little. She knew she fell hard – she could be single-mindedly determined about virtually anything – but it was only just becoming clear how much that kiss had changed everything.

She was an artist, expressive to a fault, ever-harnessing her emotions as though they were her fuel (and in the crudest terms, that's exactly what they were). It was a challenge before, trying to keep herself in check around him, but it was the only thing she could think to slow this flood of emotion. Kissing him had broken the dam – shattered it, really. And she knew, she _knew_, he'd felt something too.

But he wasn't here. As dedicated as he was to glee, he wanted to avoid her more. He didn't have her flair for dramatics, and maybe he wasn't actively trying to make a statement with his absence, but she understood it all the same. He regretted kissing her. Whatever they had, or could have, he didn't want to pursue it, and though part of her wanted to rage over his cowardice, she had to admit that it was probably for the best.

He was with Quinn, of course, but his girlfriend wasn't the complication that sent her running last night. Rachel had come to McKinley to hurt him (though she was beginning to doubt her ability to see that through), and even if he wasn't with Quinn, even if Rachel abandoned "The Plan" today, she still belonged in Vocal Adrenaline. He and New Directions needed Regionals to secure their futures, and she would always be the thing standing in the way. What hope did they have?

He wouldn't choose her. Not over Quinn. Not over New Directions. Not over his future.

She couldn't really blame him. He belonged here. Even as his team celebrated without him, as she mourned his absence, it was painfully clear that this was all backwards. He should be up here, making music in the auditorium he loved so much. He should be here to share this with his team, to take his turn teasing Noah about the black eye he refused to explain, to cajole Quinn out of whatever sour mood kept her removed from the playful banter that erupted while they waited for April to finish applying yet another coat of hairspray.

This was _his_ home, not hers, and things would right themselves eventually. She'd have to learn to accept that, even if she knew it probably meant that her heart would end up broken instead.

* * *

><p><strong>The song playing during Rachel's wallowing is Eric Carmen's "All By Myself," the same one Emma is singing along with while crying in her car in Showmance. (Fun fact: that entire scene was inspired by Rachel's line: "Have you ever liked somebody so much, you just want to lock yourself in your room, turn on sad music and cry?") And the song April performs in the last scene is "Home" from the Wiz.<strong>

**In the time that it took me to finish Home, we caught up to where I had written ahead, but I'm working to finish Bad Reputation as fast as the words will come.**

**This chapter was a milestone and a huge labor of love, so please review and tell me what you thought.**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: No, you're not dreaming. I'm not dead, and this is actually an update. I don't know what to say other than that I'm a perfectionist and I haven't yet figured out how to curb that to make myself write faster. (If anyone has any tips, I'm all ears.) I'm sorry if that makes following this story miserable for anyone reading it, and I sincerely appreciate anyone who's sticking with me.**

**As always, I'd be remiss if I didn't thank the two people who give me a kick in the ass when I need it. Mysti is my beta extraordinaire/Puck-Whisperer/therapist, and Maddi is my ever-ready pair of unbiased eyes. Never enough love for these two. **

**Disclaimer: Not my show. Not my songs. Not my idea (see Prologue). **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five (AKA "Bad Reputation, Part 1")<strong>

He didn't want to go in there.

Finn wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting in his truck, engine off, just watching the school parking lot fill. He had homeroom in a few minutes, and he should stop at his locker, but he didn't want to move.

_They_ were in there.

He'd spent the entire weekend hiding in his room. Literally. He'd played video games for hours straight, slept, tried to do homework and then gave up two minutes later and stared at the ceiling instead, and he pretended to be asleep whenever his mom came in to check on him so she wouldn't ask what was wrong. (She must have assumed he was sick because eventually she started bringing up Tylenol and soup and trying to check his temperature without waking him up.)

He was hiding from everyone.

He didn't realize how few important relationships he actually had until they all managed to get screwed up. Like, in the _same_ _night_. His girlfriend cheated on him. With his best friend. He'd tried to show his mom why keeping their old memories around was so important to him, and she'd practically blown him off. And Rachel. He wasn't sure how she'd managed to become one of those important relationships in the last two weeks, but it didn't change the fact that she _was_.

He could feel all of this – this _stuff_ in a giant, twisted knot in his chest, making his breathing heavy, hurting when he swallowed, wrapping around his heart and squeezing like some freaky python. And he didn't even know where to start working through it.

When he didn't have the image of Puck and Quinn like a hot poker in his eyes, he was thinking about Rachel. He was reliving that kiss over and over and wishing he could hold on to the way _that_ had made him feel, instead of the kicked-in-the-stomach feeling he'd been stuck with since he went over to Puck's. He didn't have much straight in his head right now, but he knew he wanted to kiss her again, to feel that full and whole and just _alive_.

And he knew how much of a jerk that made him, because kissing Rachel had been cheating, too. The same thing Quinn had done to make him feel _knotty_ like this. Except she'd done it with his best friend.

This couldn't be his life.

He'd left his phone in his jacket pocket on silent all weekend and didn't check it until this morning: twelve missed calls from Quinn and a handful of texts, all demanding or begging that he call her. He wasn't surprised that she'd never just come over. She and his mom had never bonded or anything. They'd been polite – maybe too polite – the couple of times they'd been in the same room, so Quinn wouldn't risk making a scene in front of her. He wasn't surprised that Puck hadn't called, either – that dude would rather go for a dumpster dive than admit he was wrong about anything. Finn was more surprised, and sad, that he didn't have any missed calls or texts from Rachel. The one person he actually did want to see.

He wanted to tell her what happened, wanted her to read his mind like she always did and tell him how he was going to make himself okay. She was the friend he talked to about stuff, and he'd wanted to call her all weekend, but that was complicated now, too. He'd _made_ it complicated.

His head didn't feel any clearer now than it did on Friday. He'd hoped that maybe a solution would just pop into his head after that knot in his chest eased up a little (Was that how knots worked?), or that he could just figure out what all he was feeling and then decide how to handle it.

Right now, he was only sure he did not want to leave his truck. But even the smokers and the stragglers had gone inside the doors, and he knew he couldn't sit here much longer unless he wanted to end up actually drawingattention to himself by going in really late.

So he slipped on his letterman, grabbed his backpack and his duffel for practice, and slipped out of the truck cab.

Finn went through the gym entrance to avoid the halls. Plus, that way he could leave his bag in the locker room until practice. He kept a wary eye out for Coach Tanaka – if he saw Finn, he'd call him into his office to show him some new gadget he'd ordered (like a spring-loaded clipboard or a titanium whistle, like any of it would improve their chances of winning), and he just couldn't sit through that today. Fortunately, he passed the coach's office safely, but when he turned towards the lockers, Puck was there.

Finn froze mid-step, a "hey" halfway up in his throat before he remembered why he was going through the runaround this morning in the first place. They'd been best friends since preschool, okay? Old habits died hard.

"Sup, dude," Puck grunted at him. It sounded careless, casual, but Finn knew him too well. If this were any other morning, Puck would be saying hello with his head buried in his locker – they weren't girls, they didn't need to stare into each others' eyes to have a conversation. But Puck stood up and turned towards him, giving him his full attention for maybe the only time ever.

Finn realized, once he saw the tension in Puck's shoulders (something he'd seen often, but never from this angle), that Puck thought Finn might punch him again. Well, he'd deserve it.

"'Sup'?" Finn repeated. "That's it?"

Puck shrugged stiffly. "You know I don't apologize, so what the hell else do you expect?"

Finn's grip on his practice duffel tightened. He had half-a-mind to throw it at Puck, and only didn't because he knew it was too heavy to swing well. "I want to know why." He hadn't meant to say it, but now that it was out there, he stood his ground, glaring at Puck as if he might scare the dude into giving him an actual answer.

"You've seen her right?"

He clenched his teeth, exhaling heavily through his nose. "That's it? You went behind my back – threw away our friendship – because she's hot?"

"Do I need a better reason? I'm a dude, and you're not even into her anymore. Now you're free to chase Rachel, and I made out with Quinn Fabray. It's win-win for everyone – except maybe Quinn. And don't start acting like you suddenly care now."

Finn ignored that first part. "And you do?"

"Maybe. What the hell does it matter?"

Finn opened his mouth to answer, but he couldn't make the words come.

Because it was his girlfriend and his best friend, and, no matter how they all rearranged themselves after this, he'd always remember how it felt to be a means to an end. He'd imagine them sneaking around behind his back, trying to use him to get to the other, stringing him along as the third wheel without him even knowing.

They'd played him, and he didn't know how badly or for how long. How did his whole life suddenly feel like a lie?

Finn blinked, and realized Puck had started tossing stuff back in his locker. Finn never kept score the way Puck did, but he could pay attention, and he could read the dude like a book – or at least he used to think he could. Puck was relaxed now. He thought he'd put Finn back in his place.

Puck closed his locker with a slam, and slung his letterman over his shoulder as he lumbered past Finn, back to looking bored. "Look, the way I see it, I deserved the sucker-punch. We're even. You get rid of the girl you _didn't_ like and you get to hook up with the hot Jew you're actually into. You owe me one." He pulled the door open and entered the hall before Finn could think to respond.

Every bone in Finn's body wanted to scream at how wrong that sounded, but what was the point? He hadn't even known there was a game going on, and it felt like no matter what he did now, he'd already lost.

* * *

><p>Quinn absently tapped an unsteady rhythm against the wall behind her, trying to appear nonchalant. She'd watched the door to the boys' locker room long after the warning bell rang, knowing she was about to be late. Ordinarily she wouldn't risk marring her perfect record (or tempt her homeroom teacher, who tended to be just as grumpy as the students on Monday mornings, into making an example out of her), but she needed to talk to Finn before he found a reason to be even more pissed than he already was. She was pretty sure she knew which route he would take to avoid her – he wasn't the most imaginative guy ever.<p>

The door abruptly swung inward, and she nearly slipped in her haste to stand straight. But it was the last person she wanted to see.

She looked away the moment their gazes crossed, but not so quickly that she missed the genuine smile that flickered upwards across his features when he saw her. She gulped to keep her face impassive, relieved when that fleetingly real smile twisted into his usual smirk – this Puck she could handle.

He started across the hall. "You waitin' for me, Q?"

The ass – he knew she most definitely was not; even he couldn't dismiss the rage that had re-directed onto him the second Finn left his house. (Unfortunately, her memories of that night were crystal clear in IMAX, alcohol or no alcohol.)

"Go away," she told him coolly, her eyes glued to the door on the opposite wall and her hands clenched behind her back where he couldn't see them.

But he only came closer – too close – leaning sideways against the locker-wall next to her so that his chest nearly brushed her shoulder every time he breathed, and she clenched her fists tighter, needing the pain to keep her head from clouding. She braced herself, knowing he wouldn't leave it at that, but she didn't feel prepared in the slightest when he raised one hand slowly, reaching to gently wind a loose curl back into the twist of her ponytail.

She finally turned to look at him, at the bruise under his eye that looked even worse than it had on Friday, and wondered just what kind of game he was playing this time.

He was still wearing that obnoxious smirk as he spoke in a low voice into her ear. "I'm glad we ran into each other. We need to figure out custody of my letterman if we're gonna be a thing. I'm willing to negotiate: jacket-time for skin-time."

She bristled, the spell broken, and right at that moment, the locker room door opened again, and this time it _was_ Finn.

He took one look at her, at Puck hovered heavily over her shoulder, and Finn's face – if it was possible – seemed to fall even farther. His lips puckered furiously as his jaw tensed, and then he pushed his way down the hall.

"Finn!" She tore after him, trying (and failing) not to call attention to them. "Finn, wait!" He walked faster, but she jogged to catch up with him at the crossing point to the other hall. "Please, stop! I have to tell you –"

"Save it."

He tried to turn away from her again, and she latched onto his sleeve, keeping him there, even if he wouldn't look at her.

"Come on – let's just go somewhere and talk. We can fix this."

"Just leave me alone. I'm not going anywhere with you."

She tried to pull him to the side – into a classroom, even down an empty hall would be better, not so exposed – but he kept twisting out of her grip, keeping his gaze fixed somewhere over her head. She could feel the hot tears prickling behind her eyes, but she didn't want to cry, didn't want to make this any more of a scene than it already was. The tears burned as they ran down her throat instead, locked inside.

"It was a mistake, Finn!"

His shoulders tensed, then sagged, lower than she'd ever seen them. But he stopped pulling away, stopped trying to leave. His gaze dropped to meet hers, finally. "But why –"

"I was _drunk_, Finn, I –"

"Why were you even over there?"

She gaped at him, unable to answer, tasting tears in her mouth now, too. She was going to drown from the inside. "I'm _so_ sorry… I just – I knew I was losing you. Ever since Rachel came –"

"Don't blame this on her. We were having problems way before that."

"But we could've gotten through it! I never thought we were over."

He stared at her, his expression shifting moment to moment: misery and fury and something she chose to interpret as affection. And then he met her gaze, and she forgot to breathe. "Well, we are now."

In the long moment it took to fill her lungs, to make her trembling jaw form the words clawing their way up her throat – _No. You can't. We belong together_ – he started to turn away, to leave for good. And then he stopped. She looked up at him, surprised and maybe even a little hopeful, but he wasn't looking back at her. She followed his gaze, and of course it was Rachel Berry – always Rachel Berry – watching from halfway down the hall, eyes wide and face unreadable.

The bell finally rung, and Rachel hurried into a classroom. Finn was gone, setting off down another hall as fast as his legs would take him. Quinn wished she could disappear so easily. But she suddenly felt the stares of everyone in the hall, everyone who'd stopped to watch her life go up in flames, and their unabashed ogling felt heavy, keeping her pressed into place.

She stayed where she was, frozen, until the halls finally cleared, and she was alone.

* * *

><p>Well, that was awkward as hell.<p>

Puck was pretty sure Quinn forgot he was even standing next to her once her precious Finn came out of the locker room, especially when she went running after him. But Puck followed – he wasn't about to miss that – and he caught the whole pitiful show, right up to the train of the longing gazes: him watching Quinn watching Finn watching Rachel. Fucking pathetic.

Finn and Quinn had been done for months, and everyone but them seemed to know it. Even though Puck had expected it, even pictured how it might go a couple times, he'd never thought their final goodbyes would have been _that_ dramatic. But then, he'd never figured on Finn actually catching him with his girl.

He'd probably have to deal with their post-break up funk now too, but it couldn't be as bad as their _pre_-break up funk. At least he'd only have to hear one of them bitching – not like Finn would be showing up looking for a bro's night anytime soon.

Finn was probably more pissed than Puck had ever seen him. So pissed the dude couldn't figure out what to do with it. Puck never thought Finn would actually have the balls to punch him, but he was pretty sure the dude wouldn't try it again. After an entire childhood's worth of tantrums, Puck knew Finn had his gut-reaction blow-ups and then he'd sulk until the universe threw him a bone. The best thing he could do now was let Finn be until he got over it. Even if Puck was the apologizing type, Finn wouldn't be able to hear it now without getting worked up all over again, anyway.

Quinn was a different kind of hot mess. He'd seen how bent out of shape she would get just because Finn complained that it was too hot to wear his letterman like she wanted him to. He knew, probably better than she did, how much getting caught and losing her oh-so-precious control over this whole thing would screw with her head. And he didn't think she could handle getting screwed even tighter than she already was.

He got pressure, okay? Nobody got to be this much of a badass without some high stakes along the way. But Quinn thought she cornered the market on home pressure, like it gave her a reason to make herself into some tight-ass phony. Puck should've left her the hell alone in the first place. He enjoyed a challenge every once in a while, sure, and she was basically the only cheerleader he _hadn't _done. (He wished he actually had the v-cards he'd collected from the freshmen so he could display them like baseball cards – maybe even get a trading game going in the locker room.) But he'd catch Quinn staring at him when she came to team parties or when the cheerleaders would practice near the field. Well, that was nothing new – obviously he was easy on the eyes.

But still. She wasn't as crazy as she pretended she was. She stared down the hockey punks, told them to leave their mullets in whatever dumpster they found them in, letterman or no letterman, when all the other cheerleaders at least pretended to swoon after them.

Quinn had never once insulted the 'hawk. Which was how he knew she thought it was sexy.

He'd started watching her, knowing she'd never tell him what she was thinking, even if he asked, but there was no one more interesting to keep his attention at those lame jock parties. (At least not up until all the cheerleaders lubed up on cheap tequila and he could take his pick to a bedroom. Or his truck. Or behind some bushes. Wherever.) Quinn might have everyone else fooled, but he took a little pride in knowing that he'd cracked that ice queen exterior. And he made sure she knew it.

It pissed her off. But it was hot. And hot girls were sort of his thing. Hot girls with "No Trespassing" practically tattooed on their foreheads were definitely his thing.

The last few months, working her like a puzzle, testing this piece and that piece, had to be the most fun he'd had with a girl with his clothes on. (Sometimes, when one of his cougars was making him a margarita and he caught himself plotting his next move with Quinn instead of planning Round 2, he'd think maybe she topped both the with and without clothes lists, but he figured that was just the ego talking.) He'd known she wouldn't take to his charms like the other girls – she was a whole different animal. But there were some things he knew got every girl going. He stepped up his game around the two cronies she always had around. Santana and Brittany were more than a little bent (San was a bitch with a mean territorial streak, and Brittany kept trying to feed gummy bears to his Mohawk to "nurse it back to health" or some shit), but he made sure he showed both of them a toe-curling good time – and often – knowing sooner or later Quinn had to hear about it. She never shut up about being an honor student, so he figured she'd read between the lines: he could take care of her too.

He could tell she was intrigued after a couple weeks, when Finn started complaining about all his cold showers. Puck finally got him to admit that Quinn was being an even worse cock-tease than usual. Puck knew whatever Santana and Brittany were saying about him was driving her imagination wild, and she was making poor Finn into her bitch to deal with the frustration.

To everyone else, she still seemed to despise him, but he knew her now. She didn't have a hot button that made her fall all over him like other girls did, but she had her tells, and he knew there was something she found irresistible about him. Whatever it was, it was his new favorite part of himself.

And then, when she showed up at his house doing that wounded bird thing, he realized what it was. He was maybe the only guy at McKinley that had taken the time to actually figure her out. Well, that, and the only one who wasn't put off by the extra dose of scary she threw out whenever she was up against a wall.

Puck didn't feel even a little guilt about what happened with Quinn that night. If anything, he was majorly pissed off at Finn for interrupting. Just when he and Quinn were finally on the same page – _she'd_ come to _him_ for fuck's sake! And now that Finn'd made sure it all blew up in her face, Puck would have to work twice as hard to get her to take him seriously again before she could talk herself back to Denial Land.

And yeah, sure, the challenge had been half the fun, but taking the long chute from the finish line to square one was nowhere near his idea of a good time. All he knew was that she'd better be as worth it as he thought.

* * *

><p>After a couple periods, Finn couldn't avoid his locker anymore. He knew he hadn't been wrong to steer clear of it when he felt someone appear next to him mid-combination, way too close for comfort. Kurt.<p>

"Hello, Finn."

He was so surprised he nearly took a step back, but he tried not to show it. "Uhh hey."

Kurt stared at him like he was looking for something, unblinking. "I just heard about what happened with Quinn, and I wanted to see if you were okay. I mean that was –"

"Thanks," Finn said quietly, before Kurt sympathy-exploded all over him. No offense, 'cause he probably meant well and everything – Finn just really didn't want to hear it.

"Of course." Kurt smiled, and he didn't sound so careful anymore. "That's what friends are for. To dust you off when girls knock you down and make you miserable. It's the inevitable circle of life. And might I suggest you begin the healing with a soaking hot bath and aromatherapy? It's one of my favorite ways to relax."

"Right. Well it just happened, so I'm still kinda thinking through it, and I don't really fit in our bathtub, but umm – Thanks. Again. I'll see you later."

And he stuffed his last book into his bag and walked away, trying to keep his gaze over everyone's eye level. He could already tell this was going to be one of the worst days he'd ever had at McKinley (which was saying something). And it had barely even started.

* * *

><p>Rachel had only just gotten her lunch settled on her lap and was preparing to add the dressing to her salad when he walked through the choir room door.<p>

"Finn?"

He stopped at the sound of her voice, looking up from the floor. "Rachel. What are you doing in here?"

"I always eat lunch here," she replied automatically. "What are _you_ doing in here?"

"Just couldn't deal with everyone today. I can go somewhere else –"

"No, please!" she nearly-shouted, alarmed. "Stay."

He hesitated for a painful, drawn-out moment, and she rushed to amend her outburst. "I mean unless 'everyone' includes me – and I would understand if it did, although I am still relatively new and I'm not sure _I_ would even consider myself a fully integrated part of the student body yet." Why couldn't she just shut _up_?

Still just inside the door with his hands in his pockets, he slowly shook his head – in response to what, she couldn't guess – but then he smiled sadly and joined her in the front row seats, and she smiled back. She had never been so glad not to be part of "everyone."

It was much too quiet; there wasn't even a background of white noise drifting in through the halls, and the silence gave way to tension faster than she'd have thought possible.

Rachel feigned preoccupation with her salad, hoping he might be the one to break the silence. She didn't trust herself not to ask him all the questions writhing around in her mouth. What exactly had happened with Quinn? Was Rachel the reason he broke up with her? What did it mean for _them_? (Assuming she wasn't being presumptuous in thinking there could still be a _them _at all.)

Finn had all the answers, but she was afraid it might hurt him just to hear the questions. He'd come here seeking a refuge, to be alone. Interrogating him would be the opposite of helpful, and yet she couldn't think of anything else to say.

Then again, he'd seen her watching them this morning. He knew she knew. What kind of friend would she be if she didn't check on him?

She meant just to glance at him, to be inconspicuous, but she couldn't look away. He'd curled his body as tightly as he could in his chair, his calves pulled into the chair legs, his back hunched so that his elbows fell onto his knees. He might've looked casual, even restful, except that his eyes were screwed shut, his mouth pursed like he was trying to hold his features together.

He looked so tense sitting there that she thought even one word from her might break him, or maybe startle him out of whatever trance he was holding himself in, but when she uttered a soft "Finn," unable to hold it in any longer, he only let out a heavy breath as he twisted his neck towards her. There was something expectant, but also resigned, in his gaze, and she just knew he'd been waiting for her to say something since he'd sat down. He'd maybe even been bracing for it. "Are you alright?"

His eyes widened in surprise, and she wondered what he'd expected her to say, if not that. "Uhhh, not really." He leaned back in his chair, stretching his feet forward, and he didn't look so fragile anymore. "How – How much did you see – you know, this morning?"

"Just the end, I guess," she answered, speaking at about half her usual speed to keep her mouth from running away with her. He looked like one wrong word might send him back into that hard shell. "You and Quinn – you're over?"

He gulped, visible even in profile. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

He frowned as he looked at her. "You are?"

"Well – you're obviously in pain, and it didn't seem particularly amicable. Kind of sudden actually – isn't it?" She let the question hang, waiting hopefully for him to fill in the blanks. But for a long moment, his only response was to crack his knuckles.

"Yeah. Something kinda happened after you left the other night. I was all worked up and confused. I went over to Puck's to blow off some steam, and I found Quinn with him."

Rachel gaped at him, the guilt she'd felt stirring frozen by shock. "They were…"

"Yeah."

There was silence again, but this time, Rachel couldn't think of anything to say. Quinn and Puck? And poor Finn… behind his back – he must be devastated. It was like something out of a soap opera.

"She wouldn't have told me," Finn was saying. "I've caught her in lies before – little ones – but she never owned up to them. I don't even know if this was the first time, but if they didn't stop – she'd have kept pretending we were fine until – I don't know, maybe forever."

Rachel felt a pang in her chest at that word. _Forever_. "You think you could have stayed with her forever?"

He glanced at the door. "Not after something like this."

Rachel didn't miss the way he dodged answering the question outright, but as heavy as her heart already felt, she thought maybe she didn't want to hear the answer after all.

"What does she even see in him, anyway?"

She shrugged, surprised but not thrown by the change in topic. "I don't know. I mean, he's attractive in that surly, devil-may-care kind of way –"

"Forget I asked. This isn't helping at all."

"Sorry." His pained smile, one she hadn't seen on him before, told her he wasn't actually upset with her, and she dared to push a little more. "Would it hurt less, if she actually had feelings for him instead of just wanting a warm body?"

He furrowed his brow for a moment. "I don't know. I mean either she was trying to hurt me or just didn't care if I got hurt as long as she got what she wanted. I never – I used to think she just acted like a bitch to stay 'on top,' that she wasn't _really_ like that, but I guess I was wrong. I mean, you'd have to be pretty messed up to stab someone in the back like that."

Rachel's eyes slammed closed. "Don't _say_ that. It's just – sometimes good people wind up in bad situations, okay? Th-they can be backed into a corner or be faced with difficult decisions. Maybe sometimes the end justifies the means. But it doesn't mean that they don't struggle with it, or feel guilty for doing it. And maybe sometimes they even change their mind along the way and wish they'd chosen a different path to begin with but by then it's already too late and they can't go back and they're stuck between a rock and hard place and Sondheim himself couldn't compose the hopelessness."

She forced herself to stop and breathe when she realized that he was gaping at her, completely thunderstruck. She sighed. "You're not that jaded, Finn. You believe in people more than anyone I've ever met. I don't want you to lose that over this. It's one of the most special things about you." He was staring at her, his eyes practically begging her to keep talking, so she did. "It's one of the reasons I was drawn to you."

He blinked and looked away, suddenly squirming in his seat under her gaze, and she could practically see the cogs turning. He looked more than nervous – almost uncomfortable – and she knew with a sudden, cold realization worse than any slushie that he was about to let her down easy. And she didn't think she could handle hearing it, knowing that even with Quinn out of the picture, he still didn't want her.

She lifted her chin, resigned to an old defense mechanism. "Well, I know that despite your official unavailability we may have had a budding romance which you may now wish to pursue more freely. But I refuse to be a rebound, Finn. We'll just have to put any romantic interests between us on hold until you've fully healed. I will be here for emotional support, but that's it."

Finn smiled easily, nodding as if to say he understood. "Thanks, Rach."

_Thanks? _That was it? She might have been the one to propose a healing latent period, but he didn't have to agree so readily! He could have thrown himself at her feet in protest, insisted that he couldn't live without her, that even before the cheating he'd wanted to dump Quinn for her.

But apparently that wasn't the case. He still wasn't sure of her, and with everything she was risking by indulging these unexpected feelings for him (not the least of which was soul-crushing heartbreak), she needed him to be.

"Besides," she continued, cringing at the false levity in her voice, "the team is too easily distracted by drama, and we really need to focus on Regionals."

Finn's head bobbed as he nodded absently. "Yeah, that's true. We can still be friends, though, right?"

She stabbed an errant piece of lettuce with her fork, her appetite gone. "Sure. Friends. I think we're both mature enough to handle that."

Friends. Never before had that word clanged in her ears, so much like "understudy." Didn't he feel it? They could be so great together. They had incredible musical chemistry, and he balanced her out in so many wonderful ways. Being with him was so pressureless – he could put her at ease faster than anyone she'd ever known (well, not now, not when he was unknowingly tossing her heart from one hand to the other). Even his height to her… not-height.

But it wasn't like they'd ever get a chance to really be together. Not when she felt like she'd betrayed him before they ever even met. He didn't know about that, of course, but considering the way he'd been slammed with one personal upheaval after another in the last week, she supposed she couldn't blame him for feeling overwhelmed. She could give him time to clear his head. If friendship was all he could give right now, then she would be the best friend he ever had. She'd take what she could get.

But a tiny spark somewhere deep inside, the one that flared every time she saw him or spoke to him or sat with him – that felt nearly as undeniable as whatever compelled her to open her mouth and sing – it blazed now in protest. And she had to hope that Finn was wrestling with a spark of his own.

* * *

><p>Puck snuck up behind her as she was fishing something out of her locker. He knew for a fact that she had the most anally organized locker of anyone in this school, so he didn't have a clue why she seemed to be at a loss to find whatever-it-was. "You can stop lookin', babe. I'm right here."<p>

Quinn suddenly started piling books into her arms like the school was on fucking fire before she stalked off in the other direction, ignoring him.

He caught up easily and slowed to match her pace, though it looked a lot more leisurely on him. "So –"

"Don't. Haven't you caused enough damage for one day?"

"Seriously? It's been like three hours. I thought you'd be past the whole-blame-the-world thing by now. Time to embrace the bright side here."

Her chin jerked sideways to catch his gaze, her brow crinkling. "You're actually _happy_ about this, aren't you?"

"Why not? The way I see it, Finn catching us was the best thing that coulda happened. Now he can get his Jew-mack on all he wants and maybe stop acting so damn _broody_ all the time, and you can finally stop playing coy. Not that it wasn't hot, but kinda the whole point of foreplay is the _after_-play."

"Would you keep your voice down?" she hissed.

"Why? The whole school already knows about us. Actually, everyone pretty much thinks we did the nasty, and I'm kind of shocked that that's not actually true."

"You're an idiot. And there is no _us_. There will never _be_ an us. Friday was a glitch, but it won't happen again." She picked up her pace, but she must really be short a few screws if she thought she was going to outrun him.

He caught up again and stayed closer than necessary, just to prove a point. "Keep telling yourself that. And maybe after you 'happen to wander into my neighborhood' a few more times, you'll realize that there's a reason you can't resist me." Instead of walking faster, she stopped dead – she probably didn't have any more gears – and he used his last step to settle leisurely in front of her, now that he had her attention.

"Don't give me anymore of that 'I'm irresistible' crap. You're repulsive." She was trying to glare at him for all she was worth, but it probably would have been more intimidating if her eyes weren't red and puffy from crying. And now that they were standing still, he could hear the thick edge to her breathing. He blamed his soft spot for this girl that he decided to stop baiting her and get real for a minute.

"I _know_ you, Q," he told her, as gently as he could. "And you can try to tell yourself that you were drunk and I was there, but we both know that's not the whole story. You want me." He wasn't ego-stroking – he didn't even smirk – it was just simple fact, even if she was determined not to admit it.

Her mouth pulled into a thin line. "Did you ever consider that maybe I just wanted to use you to hurt Finn? It's not like you'd ever turn me down."

"Thought about it. But if that was really all you were after, you'd have wanted to rub his face in it, not beg for forgiveness after he caught you."

For a split second, he thought he might've seen something like pleading flash across her features, but just as quickly she shook it off and slowly pulled that bored, arrogant mask into place, and suddenly she was standing a little taller. "Well it didn't work, and now my life is over. So please, just leave me alone."

He let her walk away that time – What? She'd said please – but he hoped something he'd said had gotten through to her. What was the use in her being hung up on Finn when she had a stud like Puck waiting as patiently as he could for his shot? And especially when her lunk-head ex-boyfriend had started moving on before they even broke up.

He'd thought Finn was the main reason she wouldn't give him a chance, but if she was still keeping her guard up with Finn gone, there must be something else going on. She had to know that he wasn't just pushing her so he could nab the holy grail of v-cards (though if one existed, it'd totally be hers). He wanted to be able to call her _his_.Like right fucking now.

Actually, no. What he _wanted_ was to get his mack on with some random hot Cheerio that was half the effort and twice the payoff of Quinn Fabray. And maybe to blow up some dudes on Call of Duty when he was done. He _wanted_ that to still be enough.

What he _needed_ was an entirely different story.

* * *

><p>It hadn't even been a full day since Finn broke up with Quinn in the middle of a crowded hallway, and he was pretty sure the whole school knew about it already. Worse, he'd overheard Puck's name tossed around enough to guess that people had somehow figured out <em>why<em> they'd broken up. Or at least that Puck had something to do with it.

He'd tried not to freak out over all the staring and pointing – sooner or later, something else would grab people's attention or they'd just get bored of talking about his life (he hoped). But when he got to the locker room to change for fifth-period gym, Azimio and Karofsky immediately started in on how Quinn must've finally gotten sick of watching Finn making out with other guys in glee and gone looking elsewhere. Fed up, he'd shoved Azimio back into the lockers, and the noise brought Coach Tanaka out of his office before the other guys could jump in. Finn had walked back out the door rather than try to explain himself.

He'd somehow ended up back in the choir room, only a little disappointed when it wasn't totally empty. Kurt, Mercedes, Tina and Artie were crowded around a laptop on a stool up front, but they were laughing so hysterically at whatever was on the screen that they barely noticed him come in. He nabbed a seat in a back corner, hoping they'd take the hint and leave him alone.

Curiosity got the better of him when someone – Mercedes, it sounded like – started laughing so hard she actually snorted. He leaned into the next chair and craned his neck to see the screen. It looked like they were watching one of those old dance exercise videos his mom used to order when he was a kid. Was this an SNL skit or something? But even as he thought it, the person in the video turned around, and – _uhhh._

She wasn't on SNL last time he checked.

Finn got up and crossed the risers to sit behind Kurt for a better look. "Holy crap – is that Sue Sylvester?"

All four of them sputtered a little, and Kurt nodded without turning around.

Finn couldn't help smiling as Sue made a fight-face and karate-chopped at the camera. "Where did you get this?"

"I can tell you that I certainly did not steal it from her locked file cabinet yesterday when she sent me back to her office to get her hormone replacement injections during Cheerios practice," Kurt answered, gasping between chuckles.

Sue's moves just got bigger as she got more into it, and Finn felt a full blown grin forming. Even Quinn would enjoy seeing her coach make such a fool of herself. And just like that, his smile died, his stomach sinking. He wouldn't be sharing this with Quinn anytime soon.

He saw Artie raise a hand at the screen out of the corner of his eye. "Wait, did she just do the cabbage patch?" The other three, whose attention was totally on the computer and didn't notice that Finn had gotten quiet, just laughed harder.

A really, _really_ bad idea was already forming in his head when he reached over Kurt to pull the computer into his lap. "I'm posting this on YouTube."

"W-wait. Do you think that's a good idea? She might _kill_ us."

"Oh, let her get a taste of some of the humiliation she's put us through."

Finn was barely listening as he punched the keys. This was just too perfect. If there was anything that could pull the rumor mill's focus away from him, it'd be this. And Mercedes was right. Sue Sylvester had done everything she could think of to punish glee for just existing. She had this coming.

"Ten bucks says it goes viral by lunch," he muttered as he punched the upload button. As an afterthought, he posted the link to a few of the Cheerios' Facebook profiles and to Jewfro's blog, just to give it an extra push.

"Finn?" His head snapped up. It was Mr. Schue, looking grim. "Can I see you in my office?"

Finn sighed and nodded, trying not to groan as he passed the laptop back to Kurt. Mr. Schue was probably ambushing him because he wasn't banking on catching Finn in rehearsal that afternoon. Which wasn't totally uncalled for after he'd blown off Friday's.

He walked as slowly as he could, closing the adjoining office door behind him. Mr. Schue had already cleared a chair, which made Finn think that this was one of those already planned-out white-board-type speeches. His teacher looked a little lost without an Expo marker to tap around, but Finn let the silence drag on.

"You missed rehearsal on Friday," Mr. Schue began, standing awkwardly.

"Yeah. Sorry." He heard Mr. Schue sigh, like he'd been hoping Finn might throw him a bone and fill in the blanks, but he wasn't about do that.

"You know how volatile this team can be."

Finn didn't even know what volatile _meant_. But it didn't matter. He knew this team better than anyone. He knew what their problems were, even if he always didn't know what to call it – or what to do about it.

"I know you know that, and I know how much being a leader means to you, so I have to wonder if something happened. Something you maybe want to talk about?"

Finn kept his eyes in his lap, clenching his jaw closed.

"I've heard some things – rumors going around the school," Mr. Schue said, speaking again in that same carefully quiet voice, and Finn felt his face getting hot again. "Rumors about you and Quinn. And Puck?"

Finn wanted to stay mad – at least then he didn't feel weak – but he couldn't be an asshole to Mr. Schue. Not to one of the few people who didn't already think Finn's life was a dead end. But for every little bit he calmed down, he just felt worse.

"Aren't you going to ask me if it's true?" he asked, daring to look up across the desk, and then wishing he hadn't. The sad, pitying looking on Mr. Schue's face was exactly what he didn't want to see right now.

"No. I know something happened, or you wouldn't be acting like this. I just want to make sure you're okay."

Seriously, anymore of this _caring_ stuff and Finn was going to puke or cry. And neither sounded fun, just for the record. "I'm feeling a lot right now. But none of it is okay. I'm mad and hurt and confused and the whole school knows about it. The whole school _saw_ it."

"Your pride's hurt. I get it. But people are going to talk. I just want to make sure you don't start to believe the gossip."

He frowned. "What do you mean? I was there. I _know_ what happened. I've got the visual loud and clear."

Mr. Schue sighed and moved to around to Finn's side of the desk, perching on the edge. "I mean that people who've never met you will want to think they know everything about what happened, and they'll assume things about you, about your relationship, to fill in the gaps."

Finn must've still looked puzzled because Mr. Schue dropped his chin and kept talking.

"When my marriage fell apart, I couldn't look anyone in the eye here. I'd hear them talking, wondering the same things I was asking myself: 'How could I not have known? Am I really that dumb?' She lied to me, and I was using the things I was hearing to blame myself."

Okay, now he could see where his teacher was going with this.

"I see a lot of myself in you, Finn – the parts of me I wish I still had, mostly. So I want you to learn from my mistakes: What happened was not your fault. You didn't cause it, and it's not up to you to try to fix it now. The only thing you can do is let it go and look forward. Try to move on to a new Finn Hudson."

"It's the moving forward that has me freaked out," he said, blowing out a breath. "I can just feel them all watching me, waiting to see what I'll do, and _I_ don't even know yet."

"Well, what do you _want_ to do?"

"Honestly, I kinda just want to go bowling." He shrugged. "I asked Quinn to come with me once and she shouted something about rental shoes and told me never to mention it again, so I'd just go by myself whenever I got stressed and not tell her about it. It's been a while, though."

His teacher nodded, grinning. "So start there. I mean it's your life now, right? Have some fun with it. Just don't miss any more rehearsals. I was just glad none of the girls threw fits about singing backup for April."

Finn suddenly got the visual of Rachel and April having a midget diva-off over the microphone and couldn't hold back a smile. "Don't worry. You can count on me."

Mr. Schue gave a firm nod and stood up. "I know I can."

Finn got up to leave too, feeling just a little lighter than he had ten minutes ago. The fact that the school thought he'd somehow lost his girlfriend to his best friend still kinda made him want to kick a chair or something, but now that he knew what the two of them were really like, he had to admit he was better off without them.

He could do whatever he wanted, and Quinn wouldn't tell him it was uncool, and Puck wouldn't call him a pussy. So he was going to bowl, damnit, and he could only hope he'd have a better idea of who he wanted to be when he got back.

* * *

><p>Quinn turned heads as she walked down the middle of the hallway. That was normal. She'd been able to part the red sea of letterman jackets ever since she was named captain, and the simple privilege brought her more satisfaction than she ever thought it would.<p>

Only now, something had changed. Her path was tighter than usual; they weren't jumping out of her way with the same familiar eagerness, but waited until the last second to let her by, giving only the extra room that came when they finally turned sideways. And they stared at her, actually meeting her eyes as she passed. It was like the crowds were closing in on all sides. She didn't like the feeling one bit. She held her books in front of her chest like a shield, forced to shorten her steps and slow her usual pace, and the longer she walked the more she wondered whether someone wouldn't bother to move at all.

She was so stunned she could only gape when Santana blocked her path just long enough to bark, "Keep your paws _off_ my man," before flouncing off again, completely unobstructed.

Quinn kept her chin high as usual, trying to appear unfazed, though her mind was reeling. This was the beginning of the end. She just knew it – if following that Heidi Montag debacle through Access Hollywood had taught Quinn anything, it was how fast a flawed reputation could lead to no reputation at all.

She used to be _Quinn Fabray_, celibacy queen and cheerleading captain. There was no awe to be had in Quinn Fabray, hypocrite. She'd be just another pretty cheerleader: hot legs and a blonde ponytail and a uniform in the middle. Not "on top," not even a loser, just ordinary, not worthy of respect or notice: her worst nightmare.

She had to keep their interest, whatever it took. They thought she was just another notch in Puck's headboard? She'd have to prove them wrong.

Notoriety was paramount in this school. She would never get her perfect reputation back, but she didn't need it to keep her power. Wasn't Santana proof of that? She had the worst reputation of any girl Quinn knew – enough to rival even Puck – and she carried nearly as much social weight as Quinn herself.

Quinn could spin this. She'd been unknowingly practicing for almost two years. If she could convince them that _Puck_ had been the notch in _her_ headboard… But of course it couldn't appear to come from her or no one would buy it. And they _had_ to buy it, had to believe this "new" Quinn Fabray was the "real" Quinn Fabray, who'd fooled them all from the beginning. They had to believe she belonged on top, just with a very different title.

Her feet had carried her, seemingly on autopilot, to the library. But it was perfect. With renewed determination in every step and a familiar calm focus, she sat at a library computer and glared at the gawking freshman in the seat next to her until he logged off and left. (Yeah, she still had it.)

She logged in with the passcode she'd never had reason to use before, and got to work.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: No songs in this first part, which is still technically pre-episode. Part 2 dives right in, and should be up in the next few days.**

**Review? **


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: And here is part 2. Thanks to everyone reading, alerting favorite-ing, and especially to those of you who take the time to review. Much love to M&M for their endless support, whether it be hand-holding or ass-kicking :)**

**Disclaimer: Not my show, not my songs, not my idea (See Prologue).**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six (AKA "Bad Reputation, Part 2")<strong>

"Who did it?"

Finn turned slightly in his seat and chanced a glance sideways down his row. (He was sitting in the front corner for once – Rachel had saved him the seat next to hers, which luckily meant that he could try to pretend Quinn and Puck weren't somewhere up on the risers, if he never saw them.) The rest of the club stared blankly, unconcerned, at the paper – the _Glist _– in Mr. Schue's hand.

"This is _serious_. Principal Figgins is threatening to disband the club."

Finn thought Mr. Schue was wasting his time trying to scare them all into admitting something. For one thing, only one of them actually had something to admit and – as Santana pointed out – they all knew it was Puck, though it wasn't like him to not want to take credit for his own stupid stunts. But whatever. If they could prove he did it, Puck would already be in Figgins' office and Mr. Schue wouldn't be trying to make this a glee-wide issue.

Disbanding the club seemed like kind of an overreaction, but Finn hoped Principal Figgins and especially Mr. Schue knew better than to expect the club to go on some mole hunt to rat out one of their own (even if it did turn out to be stupid Puck). Another glance around the room confirmed everyone was bored by this news. Even Rachel (who, he'd noticed in their Spanish class, was eager-to-please almost to a teacher's-pet level) looked like she was waiting for the punch line.

Mr. Schue seemed to realize the same thing, and no one was too surprised when he told them he was making this whole "bad reputation" idea their assignment for the week. What did seem to get a few reactions around the room was the sheet music he started handing out. Finn didn't know the song all that well, even if he recognized the title (hip hop and rap tended to stay pretty basic with their percussion, so he usually flipped past those stations when he wanted to practice to something), but he had to snort a little at the performing credits in the top corner. Vanilla Ice? Really?

Rachel shot him a smile and a playful eye-roll, and he thought she probably agreed with Mercedes about this song being "wack."

The next thing he knew, the sound of smacking drumsticks grabbed his attention, and he shook his head. Of course Mr. Schue wouldn't pass up a chance to rap. Rachel was already leading the choral backup from her chair, her clapping and smile contagious. Finn's own feet tapped out the beat on the floor, in spite of his mood.

When the verses hit and Mr. Schue tried to lead a spontaneous dance round-thing, Finn let Rachel pull him out of his seat, just trying to stay upright as he followed the steps as best he could. He probably could've followed them better if he was actually paying attention to Mr. Schue, but it was only when he watched Rachel really get into it, stomping her feet and tossing her head to the beat in what he was sure she thought passed for tough swagger, that the heavy gnawing in his stomach let up. She was just adorable.

The bell rang just as the song ended, and only then did he notice that the whole room seemed kind of cheerier than just a few minutes ago. Everyone was laughing and clapping at their impromptu performance, and Finn found room to be glad the club's funk from before was just a case of the Mondays – not something he had to fix. But a small part of him had thought, maybe even hoped, that everyone was upset over his whole mess with Quinn and Puck. That they cared enough to be upset for him. It was probably better this way, though. Now he didn't have to feel responsible for making everyone else miserable. And he didn't have to feel conflicted about fighting to keep Quinn and Puck in the club if they suddenly felt unwanted – they really couldn't afford to lose them so close to Regionals, no matter how much easier it might be not to have to see them everyday in here. But that was an emotional minefield he didn't even want to think about crossing right now.

His eyes swam back into focus when he felt a hand on his arm. Rachel was holding his backpack out to him, a softness in her steady gaze that told him she knew why he'd checked out for a minute. He tried to smile in a (pretty weak) thank you and took the bag, falling into step with her as she adjusted the giant binder in her arms and walked to the hall.

"I must say, Mr. Schue seems surprisingly eager to demonstrate, though he's very talented."

Finn nodded. "Yeah. I think it's as much for him as it is for us. He was in glee club when he went to school here. Even won Nationals." He shrugged. "I think he misses it."

"I think you're right. But does he always base his assignments on team issues like that?" Her voice stayed light, and he knew she was asking because she was amused, and maybe a little curious, but not judging. He decided he liked that she always came to him as the expert on all things New Directions.

"Basically. I think it's his way of trying to get us to relate to the music, even if it made things kind of uncomfortable in the beginning when none of us really knew each other and didn't want to sing about personal stuff even if we did." He thought of Kurt, singing about their "new little family," as he liked to call it, and scowled. "It's still kind of uncomfortable sometimes, not that Mr. Schue can tell."

She raised her head, eying him curiously. "You mean you don't like when he demonstrates?"

"Oh, no. Not that. Though the rapping takes some getting used to." He shrugged. "I'm just – it's a grumpy week, you know? I'll just be happy if I can avoid punching Puck and getting suspended, so I'm kinda hoping Mr. Schue will cut me some slack with this assignment. The last thing I need is to worry about what my pathetic rating on that stupid Glist means for my reputation."

If Rachel noticed how bitter he sounded, she didn't show it. "Well, what if we worked on it together? I mean, we're kind of in the same boat with the Glist. And we never did get to perform our Madonna duet for the team."

Oh right. "I don't know," he started to say. Weren't they trying to avoid what happened the last time it was just them and the music? "I mean…" He rubbed his neck, glancing down when Rachel didn't immediately jump in. She had her bottom lip pulled between her teeth again, and the way she'd ducked her chin just a little made her eyes look extra big. He swallowed. Fuck. "Yeah, okay. That might be fun." Why the hell not? He knew he'd just be along for another Rachel ride anyway.

She beamed and nudged his elbow with her shoulder to get them moving again. He hadn't even noticed they'd stopped.

As they walked to class, he realized how familiar all this felt already. Rachel hadn't directly mentioned Quinn or Puck since they talked in the choir room, and so he didn't know if it was because he was still the person she knew best at McKinley (he probably was), or if she was trying to help him stay distracted (it was working), or if she'd just gone full throttle on their 'friends' promise (which he probably should have expected because he already knew she was that way about practically everything), but she was always around now. Saving him strategically placed seats in the choir room. Finding out-of-the-way hidey holes where they could eat lunch without the heavy stares of the whole school on them. Going out of her way to walk with him between classes even when they weren't headed the same way. Chattering away in the halls so that he couldn't hear the whispers as they passed.

It was a new routine, going about his day to day with Rachel. But in a good way. Maybe it was because she was new, or because she never seemed to notice the high school hierarchy all around her – like it didn't apply to her or something – but it helped him feel like he was moving on somehow, like he was changing direction instead of going back.

Of course, he had no clue where all this was heading, but he was glad Rachel hadn't brought up that kiss again because, as much as he still thought about it (and tried to forget it when they were together), he still didn't have any answers for her. She didn't make it easy, though. Like when he'd say something and catch her staring him like he was saving drowning kittens. Or when she'd try to (sort of) playfully force-feed him pieces of her weird-looking fruit (she called them _exotic_) and he'd realize she was nearly in his lap. He could read her pretty well by now, and she never seemed as surprised or weirded out by those moments as he felt, and even seemed reluctant to let them go. She didn't have to spell it out. She was waiting for him.

What really scared him were the times he wanted to hang on to those moments too. But he couldn't. Not yet.

There was no rush, right?

* * *

><p>Rachel found him when she went to the library for her study hall, and she probably shouldn't have been surprised that he was holding a color palette wheel up to the metal book cases.<p>

"Hello, Kurt."

"Miss Rachel Berry." He marked a particular shade with a thumb before he turned towards her, eyes still on the color wheel in his grip. "There are three separate shades of grey in this room, and each more lifeless than the last."

"And why are you studying the wall color?"

"To make sure the costumes I'm making don't clash with the decor," he answered matter-of-factly. "It's not like there are many better things to do here. The collection is pretty dismal, unless you're looking for an encyclopedia."

She'd have to take his word on that. "I'm here for study hall."

"So am I – technically." He gave a sly grin as he moved past her, and she followed him towards the open section of the library with the long study tables. "But my homework takes maybe twenty minutes on a heavy day. This," he flourished the color wheel, "This is more mentally challenging. And fun." He stopped at a table which was empty but for a brown leather messenger bag, and set the wheel down next to it before taking a seat himself.

She sat across from him, delighted to put her textbooks aside in favor of conversation, just this once. "I take it these costumes would be for your bad reputation project."

Kurt nodded. "Yes, those of us invisibles who were left off of the Glist entirely are taking drastic measures to put ourselves back on the social map. Unflattering though it may be, at least your negative five rating means whoever made it knows you exist."

She felt the flush bloom under her skin, though she wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or irritation. "Sadly, that narrows the list of possible suspects down considerably. I haven't quite made the splash onto this school's scene that I'd hoped, aside from glee. And even within the choir room, I've only had reason to encounter a few members of the team personally so far."

He eyed her appraisingly, grimacing. "I'm guessing whatever air of mystery you might have held over the student body was somewhat diminished by your less-than-alluring image."

"What's wrong with it? My clothes are cute, comfortable, and they ensure a lasting impression even after a fleeting encounter."

"Trust me, you don't want the impression you're making now to last." She gawked at him, speechless, but he relentlessly plowed ahead. "I don't read Jacob Ben Israel's blog on principle, but I know several people who do, and I'm not above soaking up the gossip through the grapevine. He took a poll, and evidently your look is not as universally appealing as you think."

Rachel huffed in indignation. That unscrupulous gossipmonger!

"But I can help with that," Kurt added, a mischievous lift to his brow.

"What exactly are you proposing?"

He smiled. "A makeover, my dear. I'm in desperate need of a new project and you're in desperate need of my help."

She bit her lip thoughtfully. Years of teasing made her automatically defensive of her signature look, but Kurt's offer seemed to come from a sort-of friendly place, unlike everyone else who'd ever commented on her clothes. And it simply wouldn't do for her image to detract from her boundless talent and exciting personality, at least up until she became famous enough to put eco-friendly-yet-classy stylists in charge of her public appearances. Maybe people might find her more alluring in the meantime with an updated look.

She extended her hand across the table. "Deal."

He shook it with a slight grin. "Speaking of encounters, I saw you talking to Puckerman after glee the other day. You interested? Because I feel I should warn you that Quinn is hardly an isolated incident. He's McKinley's most infamous playboy. And a particularly classless breed of Neanderthal."

Rachel nodded sheepishly, recalling his colorful proposition. "Don't worry. His reputation precedes him. But he did join glee. I mean, he can't be completely irredeemable."

Kurt shrugged. "We assumed Finn got him to join as a favor. He is surprisingly talented, but he's stuck with it a lot longer than we expected. Maybe he just thought it'd help serenade more girls into bed with him."

"Yeah. Maybe. But – what if he really likes Quinn? What if he stayed for her?"

"Well if anyone would make Puckerman work for it…" Kurt gave a short chuckle, and when he next met her gaze she was surprised at the gravity that had settled there. "I'm not trying to shatter your romantic notions, Rachel. If it were anyone else, I'd be leading the gossip parade with a Burberry-patterned baton. But Noah Puckerman used to be the person who gave me my daily dumpster toss, who showered us losers in slushie like it was his job. He's never fully reformed, even if he's stopped targeting us 'gleeks' since he joined. But for all I know, that's all Finn's doing, too."

Even as she filed away this new side of Noah, Rachel couldn't hold back a smirk of her own at hearing still more reasons to admire Finn's leadership.

"I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case," Kurt continued, staring elsewhere wistfully. "Finn's been my savior on several occasions. At any rate, I don't hold a grudge – I doubt Puckerman's attitude was ever personal – but I can't forget it either. And I haven't seen anything to make me believe he wouldn't go right back to harassing us if glee does go south after this year."

She wanted to be able to defend her new teammate – to what end, she couldn't say – but she couldn't dispute anything Kurt had said, either. Noah Puckerman was a shameless teenage Lothario (hadn't he tried the same with her?), and he seemed to enjoy making weaker students the butt of his jokes, either to boost his already-infamous reputation or to show off for his similarly compassionate jock friends.

But she'd watched him perform – she'd tried to observe them all by now – and he wanted to be in glee. Maybe, as Kurt said, it was all a means to an end, but something didn't fit. He was unapologetic about his delinquent behavior, but unlike all that grandstanding, glee couldn't do anything for him, except maybe make him happy.

"If you feel that way, how can you be comfortable being in glee with him? And now after what he's done to Finn – both he and Quinn…?"

Kurt smiled, but it was even thinner than usual. "You think we should vote them off the island? Not trying to divide and conquer after all, are you?"

She flinched, even though she was pretty sure he was teasing. "Absolutely not! I firmly believe a successful team should put all personal problems aside for the good of their performance, but frankly I didn't expect New Directions to be so rational."

"We have our problems," Kurt agreed. "We're a new team, and most of us despised each other before this. Most of us still do, actually. But we'd have no team at all without each other. So we're stuck. Much as I wish I could be a solo act sometimes, I won't be the one to ruin it for the rest of them." He sighed, then lightly slapped the tabletop in front of him. "But enough dwelling on our tumultuous team spirit. This afternoon is going to be one very long frumpy-to-fabulous montage, and I won't let you waste another minute in those penny loafers."

Rachel rolled her eyes good-naturedly, but as Kurt tore through magazine after magazine, clipping and circling, Rachel began to wonder just what she'd gotten herself into.

* * *

><p>Shelby returned home early, fully intending to indulge in a pan full of brownies. She deserved it after taking it laughably easy on Vocal Adrenaline today. Her anger at them had subsided a little after she and Rachel reconnected, though things were still not back to "normal," but she had always known she couldn't keep her team working that hard right up until Regionals or she'd only be inviting injury in one form or another. Plus, she could use the extra time hammering out the details of their set list.<p>

Unfortunately, an impending but important step in that process was a very lengthy meeting with Dakota Stanley to compare notes on choreography. He didn't enjoy it any more than she did, but she'd had to insist after seeing what he'd do when left to his own devices. No one wanted a repeat of the flipper incident.

Oh yeah. Brownies with a side of ice cream was definitely on the order of the day. If she hurried she could get them in the oven before Rachel realized what she was up to and tried to force the vegan equivalent on her.

She moved quietly, but took the time to carry her briefcase into her home office before looping back to the kitchen. She got the brownie mix from the top cabinet and had just pulled the right pan from under the stove when she heard the heavy thud of multiple feet coming down the stairs, split by her daughter's sudden peal of laughter.

Did Rachel have company?

She moved back into the living room for a clearer view. Rachel was standing near the front door, while her guest, a boy who was only a couple inches taller than Rachel, pulled on his coat. Shelby fought down a flash of momentary panic, realizing she'd never had a reason to set rules with Rachel about having boys over.

"Mom!" Rachel called, spotting her. "When did you get home?"

"Just now." She crossed the room. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh. This is Kurt Hummel. He goes to McKinley with me. Kurt, this is my mom, Shelby Corcoran."

"N-Nice to meet you, Coach Corcoran."

She shook his proffered hand, trying not to show too much surprise at the pitch of his voice. She took note of one accessory after another and slowly relaxed. If her gaydar hadn't been naturally reliable, years in the world of show choir had perfected it.

"You as well. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"Oh, thanks but I actually have to get going." He reached for the doorknob. "I'm planning a murder-mystery theme dinner with my dad for tomorrow and I still have to track down pheasant feathers."

Shelby glanced at Rachel, who nodded as though this was a dire predicament. "Well, good luck. And thanks for all the advice."

"Oh, we're not done yet. We'll have you turning heads in no time, never you fear. I'll see you tomorrow," he said, slipping through the door.

"Bye, Kurt." Rachel closed the door behind him and turned towards Shelby with an almost sheepish smile.

Shelby raised an eyebrow. "So you're bringing my competition into the house now."

Her daughter's expression instantly turned to panic. "What – no. I mean I didn't –"

"Rachel. Relax. I was kidding." Clearly too soon for that.

The girl laughed unsteadily. "Oh."

Shelby wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her back towards the kitchen. "I'm glad to see you're making friends. He's in glee with you?" Rachel nodded. "Counter tenor?" Jerking her chin up with wide eyes, Rachel nodded again. "You don't see very many of those in a high school glee club," Shelby continued thoughtfully. He'd be a veritable ace-in-the-hole if New Directions used him effectively.

"You got that out of two sentences of hearing him _speak_?"

"Would it be bragging if I bet he has trouble with his high 'F'?" Shelby smirked at Rachel's answering giggle, then frowned as a bit of the conversation came back to her. "What did he mean about turning heads?"

Rachel sighed. "He's giving me a makeover. That's why he was here. He insisted on full access to my closet."

Shelby pulled a stool from under the counter and perched on it, leaning into her palm. "You know, if you wanted some new clothes, I would've gone shopping with you."

"I know. I guess I was just curious what Kurt's vision of the new me would look like."

"And?"

Rachel sat opposite Shelby before answering. "I don't know. Kurt's very matter-of-fact about his ideas, and he obviously knows more about fashion and stuff than I do. I think maybe I do need a new look, but I feel a bit like a doll he wants to dress up."

Shelby nodded gravely. "Well, you shouldn't blindly follow his advice if you don't feel comfortable. But experimenting can be fun. Just stay away from piercings and tattoos. And don't let him cut your hair."

She smiled. "Okay, I promise. I'll get to try something new for a costume soon anyway." Rachel's gaze suddenly landed somewhere behind her, and Shelby realized why a second too late. Her daughter's face lit up. "Were you making brownies? Oh, you have to try this vegan recipe. They're so delicious, and you can't even taste the applesauce!"

Shelby opened her mouth to at least try talking her out of it, but one look at Rachel's excited grin and she caved. But there would be no talking her out of the ice cream, "life's blood of cows" or not. Not today.

* * *

><p>Finn arrived at the auditorium kind of on the early side for once, so he wasn't totally surprised when he didn't see Rachel out on the stage yet (even if she seemed like the type to always be freakishly early for everything).<p>

He'd been stretched out on the floor for a few minutes when he heard Rachel's voice carrying from somewhere backstage. He smiled, recognizing the same vocal scales she'd been teaching him. He followed the sound to one of the dressing rooms, where light shined around the cracked door, and knocked.

The scales immediately cut off. "Finn?" There was a shrill, almost nervous, edge to her voice – he must've surprised her.

He didn't open the door in case she was changing… but then the thought that she might be even a little naked behind that door distracted him for a second before he could answer. "Yeah, it's me. Just wanted to let you know I was here."

"O-okay," she called back. "I'll be out in a minute."

Trying to shake some of the nerves from his shoulders, he retraced his steps back towards the stage and perched on the end of the piano bench, deciding to follow Rachel's example and warm-up his voice.

"Okay, are we ready?"

He turned toward her voice and nearly fell off the piano bench. That was _definitely_ the shortest skirt he'd ever seen. Which, considering how much time he spent around the Cheerios, was saying a lot. Her white shirt was unbuttoned, the ends tied into a knot under her boobs. And she was wearing knee socks, not her usual glittery fluffy pink ones but sort-of-see-through grey ones climbing up from underneath her heels.

"What –?" He almost choked on his own tongue.

She smiled, biting her lip as she glanced down. "It's my idea for our Bad Reputation duet. It's a mash-up actually, or it will be once I finish layering the songs together. The half I'm leading is an homage to Britney Spears. She defined an entire generation of promiscuous Catholic schoolgirls, but with the downward spiral of shaving her head and attacking paparazzi, her entire record-breaking legacy has been tainted. She was _the_ pop culture icon of our childhood, and she's the perfect artist for this assignment."

"Uhhh." He tried to focus on her words, but she kept lightly tugging on a free end of her shirt-knot and it was super distracting, even if he was pretty sure she didn't even realize she was doing it.

She kept going. "I'd actually like your input before we finalize your half of the mash-up, so only the first part of the choreography is worked out. But since repeated learning is the best way to internalize anything, I thought we could go ahead and learn this first section."

And unless he was imagining it, she was talking faster than usual too.

She didn't wait for a response before she grabbed both his hands, pulling him to his feet and into the open space in front of the piano. She settled a few feet away. "I kept the choreography loose until the first chorus, so let's start blocking it from there. We'll take the counts at half-tempo for now."

He just nodded, still trying to bring moisture back into his mouth.

"Okay. I thought we might try to throw a lift in at the end of this song – nothing too elaborate, I promise – so for this first part we're just building tension up to it. We have mirrored but separate choreography. Watch me."

His mouth had gone back to being desert-dry at the word "lift" – He had to lift her? He had to lift her in _that_? – but she started bending and twirling and waving (he didn't know dance terms…) so he tried to pay attention. But that turned out to be a bad idea because at half-speed every move was exaggerated. And in that costume, that meant he could see every inch of her thighs flexing, the way her stomach pulled as she twisted. And he was trying really, really hard not to see whatever her skirt did when she twirled, but it was waving at him like a fucking flag and she kept watching him watch her and just – "_No_, wait. Stop."

She stopped, frowning. "Is something wrong?"

He swallowed. "Look I'm – I'm really uncomfortable right now and you just – why are you doing this?"

She brought her arms crossed in front of her stomach. "Doing what? It's a performance, Finn –"

"No, I mean – why perform _this_ at all? What's the point?"

"Because we agreed to help each other give our reputations a boost!" she said, like it should've been obvious. And, well, _duh_, but –

"Then why didn't we just Ceran wrap Figgins' car or something? We don't need to act like this just for a glee assignment."

"Because people don't respect delinquents! The only girls in this school with enviably notable reputations are skanks or cheerleaders or both. Promiscuity equals desirability, and that's something I've never had. I've realized that my image needs major revamping if I hope to make a name for myself at this school and beyond. I know you must understand that on some level – I mean, you were upset by your Glist ranking, too."

He sighed. "Look, I know that's what I said, and it did really piss me off that it made me look like an even bigger wuss this week, but – I just – I don't want to have to worry about my reputation anymore. That's all Quinn ever did, and it wasn't fun."

Rachel shook her head a little, her foot tapping restlessly against the stage. "I'm sorry she did that to you, but you don't know what it's been like for me. What it's _always_ been like for me. People avoid me like I'm carrying the social plague, and I'd rather be hated than ignored so I refuse to disappear. And they punish me for it." She swallowed so hard that he heard it. "You can't blame me for wanting to change that."

He shook his head, stepping a little closer. "I don't. But, come on. You don't want to be like those girls. I didn't know anything about you before I met you, but if this sexy-schoolgirl thing had been your reputation, it would've scared the crap out of me."

Rachel nodded, and he could see the grooves her fingers were making around her arms. She finally looked up at him, though. "What do you think I should do, then?"

He smiled and went with his gut. "Come bowling with me."

Rachel sputtered around a real laugh, unwinding one of her arms to wipe under her eyes, and he smiled.

"I'm serious. You need to relax and have some fun just being yourself."

"Bowling? I've never been before."

"What? Oh, you have to go. It's awesome."

She grinned up at him, and she seemed more relaxed by the second. "Okay. I'd like that. Let me just change out of this." She turned to go backstage.

He nodded, and more words jumped insistently into his mouth. "And just – um, I like you because you're different. Just – remember that, okay? You don't have to pretend."

Her smile was bittersweet, almost sad, as she tilted her head a little. "Thank you, Finn." She kept walking, and he could tell she was wringing her hands together even from the back – and yeah, he was a guy, so maybe he wasn't totally trying to ignore the way her skirt flapped when he walked. He still had to drive to the bowling alley, and nothing cooled him down faster than driving these days.

* * *

><p>Kurt held one of Mercedes' hands in both of his over his kitchen table, in the process of replacing her glittery-gold costume manicure with something a little more everyday-fabulous. Tradition demanded that they accompany the beautification with gossip.<p>

"I still can't believe about Quinn and Puck," Mercedes was saying. "Do you think they're gonna get together?"

"I doubt it. They haven't even made eye contact at all this week. At least not in glee. They sit at opposite back corners and act like the other doesn't exist."

"Exactly! The sexual tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. And you must be watching the wrong side of the room because only one of them is pretending. Puck spends half of rehearsal watching Quinn."

Kurt raised an eyebrow at this news, making a mental note to confirm it for himself at the next glee meeting. "Well, Quinn has more than one reason to play invisible this week. Accused of having a reputation more scandalous than Puck or Santana? Whoever made that Glist wasn't doing her any favors if she's trying to get her good name back."

"But that's what this 'bad reputation' assignment is supposed to be teaching us, isn't it?" Mercedes asked rhetorically, her voice laced liberally with false enthusiasm. "Quinn wouldn't sing about this mess, anyway. She's shutting everyone out, even her friends. Be glad Sue keeps pulling us out of cheer drills to work on vocals because Brittany said Quinn's power trips have been even worse than Sue's the last couple days."

Kurt smirked and shook his head. "What do you think Finn is doing for his assignment?"

She tossed her free hand. "Probably another one of his Roadrunner ideas. Two guesses what this one's for."

He paused to raise an eyebrow at her. "Wait. Back up. Roadrunner?"

"He gets an idea and books his ass in that direction, then gets another idea and takes off on that one. He means well, and I know he's gotta be taking distractions anywhere he can get 'em this week, but he's working my last nerve trying to push Rachel Berry on us."

Kurt squashed down a flash of annoyance on Finn's behalf, but rather than re-visit that well-worn argument between the two of them, he went with a different comeback approach. "You almost sound threatened."

"Oh, I'm not scared of her." The bite in her too-fast reply made Kurt smile. "But Mr. Schue's been acting like we just stole their secret weapon. You'd think Rachel transferring was _his_ idea."

He grimaced, eyes on her nails. "I think we kind of did. Her personality leaves a lot to be desired, but you can't deny that she's talented. I don't relish the idea of giving up what few solos I have to my name either, but if it helps us win? I'd rather share solos next year than have no glee at all."

"Don't tell me you've joined the Rachel Berry Fan Club too." He suspected that Mercedes would be wagging her finger at him if her good hand wasn't trapped in his.

He shrugged. "Despite what her wardrobe may suggest, her borderline-manic obsession with Broadway speaks to some taste. Somewhere."

Mercedes turned her head with a scoff. "You just want Finn to think you have his back. Your little crush is getting pathetic."

He winced, and the sudden guilt in her eyes let him know that she caught it. "God. I'm sorry, Kurt. I was mostly joking. You don't really still –"

Kurt dropped his gaze to the finger he was meticulously polishing, hoping maybe this one time he wouldn't be so quick to blush.

"Kurt…"

No such luck. "Let it go, Mercedes." His tone left no room for argument, but of course his sassy-fabulous bestie would ignore it.

She turned the hand in his grasp to squeeze one of his, smearing three wet nails in the process. "You dropped some tough love on me once when I needed to hear it. So now I'm gonna return the favor. I'll even let you bust my window after, if you want."

Kurt couldn't even smile at the memory. He didn't want to be having this conversation at all.

"Finn is straight as my weave. I know he cares about you _as a friend_, but it won't ever be more than that. You need to accept that and move on before you get hurt."

He exhaled around gritted teeth. "I know Finn has never seen me that way, but… things change. I mean, he and Quinn are over. You used to say Will and Jada would break up before those two –"

"So what?"

"So…" He sighed. How was _she_ getting impatient with _him_ right now? "Finn's just had his faith in people shaken. I want him to know that the world isn't all Quinns and Pucks. He doesn't have to give up and join them." Kurt shook his head. "He needs friends who accept him for who he is, and – and I like being around him. He and I haven't spent any real time together since we were paired up for Ballads and –"

"Wait a minute. You're – Kurt…" There was an accusing edge to her voice – the last thing he'd expected – that made him look up. "Is that why you set up your parents?"

He looked away, caught off guard.

"Kurt, you can't turn him!"

"I'm not trying to _turn_ him. He's just – he's _different _than other guys, okay? He's genuine, and he cares. Maybe he's different in other ways, too, and he just doesn't know it yet."

Mercedes only stared in response, some mixture of disbelief and pity on her face, and Kurt knew she just didn't get it. _Couldn't _get it. Would anyone ever understand what it was like for him?

He re-focused on Mercedes' nails, tired of explaining himself. No matter how many times he re-worded his feelings, the most he could hope for was her sympathy, and he'd had his fill of that a year ago. He wanted more. He wanted real understanding. Genuine solidarity. Just one person who could make him feel normal.

"This top-coat's dried out. I'm going to get another." He turned the corner before Mercedes sharp wit could hurl another comeback at him. He could handle the constant alienation from the closed-minded masses in this town, but not from his nearest and dearest. Not anymore.

* * *

><p>Since the bowling alley was in West Lima, just slightly closer to his house than hers, Rachel met him there. She spotted him immediately in the mostly-empty alley, even without the advantage of his towering height. He was sitting at a lane practically in front of the door, lacing up the rental shoe in his lap, his smile visible even at this angle.<p>

Ever protective of her vocal chords, she didn't even attempt yelling over the din and the poorly amplified 80s music, but laid a hand on his shoulder in a unusually silent "hello" when she reached him.

"Hey!" He let his foot drop to the floor as he turned his head to see her, and if it were possible his smile grew even bigger. He sat straighter, bringing their eyes almost level, and jerked a thumb up at the scoreboard. "I already entered our names."

She looked where he pointed, and, sure enough, her name sat in the top right slot, opposite his. After only a moment, the display changed with the sound of a cartoon explosion, and "FINN vs. RACHEL" glared down from the screen above a pair of crossed bowling pins. It felt like more than a metaphor, maybe even an omen, and she slammed her eyes closed against the sight.

"What?" came his voice, suddenly laced with worry instead of enthusiasm. "Crap. I didn't spell it wrong, did I?" He leaned over the console next to his seat, peering at it.

She composed herself with a deep breath and squeezed his shoulder to get his attention. "It's perfect," she promised him, and she didn't have to call up a smile at his comically visible relief.

"Good. I, uh, I wanted to get your shoes but I wasn't sure what size to get you. Can I – is that one of those things you're not supposed to ask a girl? Like, I don't want to –"

She smiled and tried to stifle the laugh that threatened to explode from her chest. Could he be more adorable? "I'm a size six – narrow."

"Cool." He smiled and stood. "Be right back then."

She stayed where he'd left her as she watched him half-jog over to the counter, suddenly full of jitters. They'd agreed to be friends (not that she'd given him a choice, really), but this whole thing – the bashfully eager way he'd invited her, his borderline-giddiness tonight, his insistence to be the gentleman and pay for her – this also _felt_ like a date. Not that she had much to compare it to, but still. Did he think this was a date? Did he want it to be?

He returned at the same loping pace, cradling her rental shoes in both hands. "Here you go. I think my hand size is the same as your shoe size."

Giggling, she realized she was still standing with her jacket and purse on, so she took the shoes from him and moved to take off her things, claiming the chair next to his, determined to enjoy herself no matter what craziness plagued their lives outside of this alley.

"You're up first."

This wasn't anything like what she'd expected, if there could be expectations for something so vaguely-defined. It was a constant see-saw of emotion: completely relaxed, pressure-less ease one moment and then slow, heart-pounding, chemistry-wrought tension the next. It was enough to make her certain that her vanishing willpower around him was a bigger potential hazard than she'd ever thought. A shrug and a grin, and he could convince her that the diseases she was _sure_ lived inside those finger-holes were all part of the charm. Barely a squeeze of his warm, guiding hand on her shoulder, and she didn't give even the _base_ of a Tony about whether she won or lost this game.

Where was her mile-wide competitive streak? Where was the cutthroat, do-or-die, soon-to-be captain of Vocal Adrenaline? She was half-hoping for gutter-balls if it meant he'd stay right by her side, talking her patiently through her next roll, and the other half was only hoping to get a strike just so he would know he was a good teacher.

She looked up at the scoreboard, and besides seeing just how badly she was losing – and barely feeling a twinge at the thought – she realized there was only one frame left. Just two more rolls. She wasn't ready for this… whatever-it-was to end.

"You hungry? We could break for some food, and their pizza's actually really awesome."

She grinned, relieved (and hoping he'd brought it up to spend more time with her, and not because his seemingly bottomless hunger couldn't wait any longer). "Do they have fries too?"

He insisted on paying for the food, too, and he came back to join her at the table in front of their lane while their order was prepared.

"So, have you given any thought to a strategy for New Directions at Regionals?" she asked him warily. On the one hand, glee was the biggest shared part of their lives, but it wasn't exactly a safe topic anymore, either.

His smile did fall slightly at the question, but he answered easily enough. "A little, but I haven't come up with like a _plan_ or anything yet." He frowned suddenly. "Why? Should we? Do you think Vocal Adrenaline already has theirs worked out?"

"Probably. My mother always aims to finalize the set list several weeks before the competition. Then comes the vocal arrangements and the choreography…" At his crestfallen expression, she backpedaled guiltily. "Then again, everything takes longer when you have to account for twenty-six performers instead of just twelve."

He swallowed, flopping backwards in his chair, and she realized that pointing out that Vocal Adrenaline had yet another advantage over them in sheer numbers may not have been the most comforting thing she could have said. "God, I'm –"

"Thirteen."

"What?"

"With you, we have thirteen performers now." He shrugged in time with his smile, almost shy in its warmth. "We were always long-shots, and yeah, we're half their size. But I'm hoping thirteen will be lucky for us."

She was glad they chose that moment to call their order over the loud speaker because there was no way she could have kept her face impassive enough that Finn, if he were still sitting across from her, wouldn't have noticed. She tried to employ all of her breathing techniques at once, but of course that didn't work. She rubbed her clammy palms against her skirt and tried not to think of her stomach twisting and rolling sickly. She'd been at McKinley for almost a month. She thought she would be used to her role by now, that all of the lying, the pretending she was there to stay, would get easier with practice. But it was just getting harder.

"Here we go," Finn said cheerfully as he returned and slid the tray between them. He gobbled up a fry eagerly before nudging the tray closer to her, unwittingly putting her back at ease with his enthusiasm.

"I can't believe you've never been bowling before," he commented when he'd swallowed. "It's the best stress-relief ever. I thought a couple times about trying to get New Directions to all come out together, but Quinn always talked me out of it. She used to start yelling about rental shoes if I ever even mentioned bowling."

Rachel nodded. "I wish Vocal Adrenaline had tried something like that. Or any kind of team bonding. Maybe they might have seen me differently."

He nodded, sympathetic. "What you said before – about your reputation – I figured you were just talking about the school in general. I thought it would be a little better with Vocal Adrenaline. I mean, right?"

She hesitated for a moment, before unleashing with brutal honesty (_anything_ to take even a little weight off her conscience at this point). "Performing is my passion, and I always wanted everyone to give the best performances possible. I couldn't exactly lead by example during my dues-paying year in the chorus, so sometimes I'd sit through rehearsals and watch a couple imperfect performances and the litany of criticisms would just start building up inside of me like a volcano and I'd keep telling myself to hold it in and then it would just come bursting out. Granted, generally I was right, but it never did much for my reputation." She sighed. "I have a new chance at McKinley not to tarnish new relationships with devastating public critiques, even if they're warranted. Instead I've been cataloguing my exhaustive suggestions for anonymous locker delivery at a future date."

"Wow. Really? 'Cuz I've gotta be honest, I've been kind of hoping you'd keep pushing us like you did with Like a Prayer. I think the club really needs that tough love right now."

She shook her head. "They'd hate me for it."

Finn shrugged, as if conceding her point. "Maybe. But I'm pretty sure they'll change their minds if we win."

She almost repeated the question, hoping he would understand that she wanted to know if offending any of his teammates might make _Finn_ hate her, but his gaze hadn't lost any of its intensity, and, in spite of her warnings, she could tell he was serious. Did he know what he was asking? She was sitting so far forward that she was actually rising off of her chair, but she had to be sure. "Just so we're clear: You want me to scrutinize every performance, every perform_er_, and viciously air each and every flaw I find?"

She watched him for even the slightest hesitation, but Finn's smile widened until it was a full-blown wolfish grin. "Do your worst."

She couldn't have contained her grin if she tried. Finn's faith in her abilities, in _her_, filled her up with something she'd never felt before. She clasped her tingling fingers together and stood, reaching for her pink bowling ball. She marched up to their lane, lined up her shot, and rolled. It didn't feel as smooth or effortless as Finn made it look, but somehow her ball found the center pin and swept the rest clean, just like she knew it would.

Finn was on his feet, beaming at her, and she didn't think twice before she surged up on her tip-toes, pulling him into a kiss. His arms instantly cradled her back, and she felt the same wonderful surprise as before, like her whole world slowed, mesmerized by the gentle brushing of his lips on hers, the little hypersensitive pricks of heat that followed the light drag of his hands across the back of her shirt.

She pulled away first, breathless and happy and warm in his arms, her hands looping his shoulders to keep him close.

"So. Who do I talk to about bugging the choir room?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Yeah, I know the Britney!Rachel thing seems like it's been done from season 2 of canon. But AU!S1!Rachel doesn't know that, and she demanded it. The song in the choir room scene is of course "Ice Ice Baby" by Vanilla Ice.**_

**_I'm already making good progress with Laryngitis (which will be pretty different than in canon) but, as always, the best way to keep me focused is to review! _**


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